


Once I Had A Love And It Was Divine

by cowpoke69



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 70s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, HIV/AIDS - Mentioned, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment - Chapter 7, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Physical Abuse - First Chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowpoke69/pseuds/cowpoke69
Summary: Ed and Oswald spend the year of 1978 together in Gotham City.





	1. Chapter 1

**Gotham City, July 1978.**

He screams at the top of his lungs, ignoring how dizzy it makes him. A scream of pure, unabashed joy, coming from the depths of his core. He looks at his pseudonym appearing in a neon green color on top of the screen: _Enygma140._

No one seems to pay him any attention, apart from Teddy, the owner of the arcade who encourages him with a loud cheer before switching his attention back to his book. _Blackmark, 1871. The first full length graphic novel edited in the United-States,_ Ed notices.

He takes out a pencil and a small piece of paper out of his grey fanny pack and makes sure to scribble his score on it. He keeps track of every single record, obsessively. _July 3rd 1978: Space Invaders. Score: 108 746._

He folds the paper and puts it in the outside pocket of his plaid jacket. Green and black madras, a few stitches here and there; it’ll probably last another year before he needs to replace it.

He makes sure to greet Teddy on his way out, waiting until he has finished to read a page of his graphic novel before blurting out: “don’t forget to put me on the legends board, I just scored 108 746.”

Teddy looks up, bouncy ringlets of dark hair covering half of his eyes.

“Lying’s bad Ed, didn’t your dad teach you that?”

Ed shrugs, “No. Yes. I mean— I’m not lying Teddy. Just check for yourself if you don’t believe me. I don’t mind. Just make sure that you properly write my pseudo on the board, it’s Nygma with a “ _Y_ ”, ‘kay?”

He exits the arcade before Teddy even has time to get behind the counter in order to check if what he just said was actually true. A quick look at his watch informs him that it’s already 6:30pm. _Dad said 7pm, I'd better hurry._

He gets home by 7:13pm. His father is waiting for him in the entrance. Patiently sitting on the last steps of the staircase. Ed goes through it with clenched teeth and stifled cries. He’s used to it. The beatings. The screams. The threats.

He makes his way to his room, climbing the stairs in a hurry, almost running from his father’s voice, a tone he despises so much that sometimes he wouldn’t mind tearing his vocal chords one by one. 

“That’ll fucking teach you Edward. Coming home late and playing your stupid games all day long. Get a life for fuck’s s—” 

Ed slams the door, dismissing his father’s wrath. _Two months and you leave this hell behind you. Two months. You can do it._

He spends the next hour tending to his wounds. A split lower lip. A few bruises on the chest. In the background, his old record player struggles to do justice to his new acquisition. Blondie’s most recent album. _Parallel Lines._ Oswald’s favorite band. 

Half of his night is spent reading _Biology Today,_ trying to learn as much information about the course of nucleic acids making their way into the cytoplasm before his tiredness gets the better of him. Oswald would probably get bored to death by his new discovery. He makes an internal note of mentioning it tomorrow before turning the lights off. 

Going to bed on an empty stomach has become a habit. A bad one, he knows it, but he proceeds to ignore his internal voice – he’ll down a bowl of Fruity Pebbles tomorrow. Sleep comes and goes, and he drifts between memory-fueled dreams and twisted nightmares. 

 

 

Ed wakes up around 8:30am, with a headache and a pajama drenched in sweat. The days are getting warmer; he hates it. Summer in Gotham City usually means people getting bored, and bored people do stupid things, such as robbing and killing each other. Not that he minds it. Otherwise he wouldn’t find work as an M.E. But they're messy. Too messy for his taste.

He changes into a fresh t-shirt – a washed out black with _the Ace Chemicals_ logo printed on the back. He got it as a birthday present when he turned sixteen. Probably something his father stole at work. He’s grown out of it and it almost doesn’t fully conceal his stomach but it’ll do. 

Oswald is due to come over after 10am so he spends his morning reading the rest of his biology textbook and taking notes in the margins while eating Fruity Pebbles straight out of the box. 

He grows restless around 11:23am and sits on the porch's stairs, looking left and right for another fifteen minutes, legs extended in front of him, sipping a lemonade turned sour in his mom’s old coffee mug. He misses her sometimes, but it’s nothing compared to what he felt during the couple of years that followed her death. Grief. Desperately clinging onto his mind, heart, limbs.

Ed drops an aspirin into what remains of his drink but the headache persists. His impatience has attained a new peak; he focuses on the neighbors arguing on the other side of the street. Oswald’s voice sounds so distant, dream-like. For a moment, he wonders if it’s not another of his hallucinations.

“What’s with the ugly t-shirt?”

Ed’s headache is increased by ten when he tilts his head up so fast that he almost breaks a vertebra. Oswald looks at him through dark tinted clip-on sunglasses. _1940’s vintage aviators. Ray-Ban._ A good look on him.

The neighbors stop arguing, seemingly more interested in their interaction. Ed blinks, once, twice, before heading inside, leaving his mother’s mug abandoned on the porch’s stairs. _One day they’ll talk, and my father will kill me, for good._

_Not if you kill him fir—_

“Ed?”, Oswald’s voice is heavy with concern.

He follows him to the living room, where Ed proceeds to shut the curtains and plops down on the worn out sofa. Oswald sits on the opposite end, taking off his sunglasses to reveal his impossibly blue eyes before tossing them on the coffee table. 

“What’s up? Another headache?”

Ed produces a deep growling sound at the back of his throat in lieu of an answer.

“Ed,” Oswald says, teetering on the edge of being concerned and entirely lost “words, please.”

Ed tries to ignore the pain, dangerously navigating towards what seems to be a full on storm coming from his end, this time. 

“You’re awfully late, Oswald. That’s what’s up.”

“Oh, wow. Okay. Well, I’m sorry. Happy?”

Ed turns his head towards Oswald, looking at him for the first-time in what seems to have been a lifetime. Taking in all the things that he adores about him but still focusing on what he wants to destroy in this very moment. 

Oswald’s smirk and the paleness of his skin. The traces of smudged eyeliner on his bottom lid, the faint scent of tobacco and vodka. _40.0% alcohol. Smirnoff Red._ Someone at the club must’ve spilled their glass on him.

Oswald does the exact same thing but he immediately scoots closer to Ed – ignoring the pain in his leg, when an unusual feature catches his sight. Ed winces, closing his lids – a defensive reflex, when Oswald’s hand goes up to caress the right side of his face. 

“Shit, Ed. Did he do that?” Oswald asks, voice heavy with concern, the pad of his thumb brushing right next to the wound on his lover’s lip.

Ed doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to. Oswald knows exactly what his father does to him, and it takes him only a few seconds to break into his usual discourse. 

“You need to leave, Ed. Are you listening to me? You need to leave or else, he’ll kill you.”

Ed scoffs, shifting so that he is now facing Oswald. 

“To go— where exactly?”

“You can come to my place. My mom won’t mind, she doesn’t care. Really Ed. She likes you.”

Ed considers the offer. Enjoying the way Oswald’s fingers soothe him, momentarily. But the truth surfaces, tearing all of his fantasies apart.

“If my father realizes that we’re— together, he’ll kill me. He’ll do it this time, you know that Oswald. You do.”

“Don’t say that,” Oswald replies, fingers leaving his lover’s tender flesh, leaning in to let his own lips plant a kiss on Ed’s cheek. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

Oswald’s right hand retrieves a shiny object, carefully tucked between the waist of his black bottom bell jeans and his lower back. He sets it between the two of them, on the beige-turned-brownish fabric of the sofa. Ed’s fingers brush over the canon, the trigger, the handle. 

“Fish gave it to me,” Oswald says, giggling like a ten-year-old before a Christmas present. “After all, I’m her favorite.”

Ed’s jaw clenches, only for a few fleeting seconds. Oswald smiles at him, radiating something that Ed despises. Loyalty towards Fish, the woman who hurt him, who still does.

“Oswald, she also broke your leg and left you to rot in a dark alley, remember?”

Oswald sighs, all drama. “Way to ruin the mood Ed.” He leans in, again, to leave a peck on Ed’s bruised lip this time. 

“Does it hurt?”

Ed shrugs, lips chasing Oswald’s for another kiss. He closes his eyes, attention shifting. Absolutely focused on his lover’s reactions. The way his hand clutches his t-shirt, exposing his skin. The wet noises of lips against lips. Oswald playfully catching Ed's tongue between his teeth. 

_Slow, fast, not enough._

They part only to find each other again, breathless. Oswald comes closer, right hand still clutched around the bottom of Ed’s t-shirt, the other pulling him closer. Forever.

Oswald’s brows furrow when Ed puts an end to it, looking over his shoulder towards his abandoned biology book on the kitchen counter. An idea blossoming in the back of his mind.

“What is it?” Oswald asks, hands still on his partner’s chest.

“I could poison him.”

Oswald blinks, not entirely sure of what he just heard. “What?”

“My dad,” Ed looks back at him, eyes full of excitement. “I could poison his coffee. I read something in my biology book this morning, about the symptoms of poisoning and the way it interacts with the respiratory system. My dad’s asthmatic, no one will care about his death. No autopsy, no report, no culprit, no crime. I’ll just need cyanide; do you think you can ask—”

“Ed,” Oswald puts the palms of his hands on his lover’s face, trying as hard as he can not to sound too patronizing, “you do realize that this is nuts, right? You cried for weeks when your hamster died, remember? You can’t kill your dad.”

“I can.” Ed’s tone is defiant. He hardly tries to hide the fact that what he considers to be a lack of faith on Oswald’s part annoys him. “You think I’m not smart enough to do it?”

“Oh, Ed” Oswald let’s go of his face, pressing his palms against his own eyes, as if to get rid of his frustration, “you’re the most brilliant mind I have ever met. But killing isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“Yeah, you know an awful lot about the aftermaths of killing, don’t you?” Ed snaps, almost immediately regretting his words. 

Oswald remains exceptionally calm, reminiscing the night of his first kill. 

“I did it to save my life,” distant tone, for a distant memory. “I did it because it was either me, or him. And I was lost, lost for a long time. Completely out of it. And I came to you, Ed. Because I knew you’d find the right words, I knew you’d be able to— reason with me, somehow.”

“And I did.”

“And on that night, you said you’d do anything for me Ed. And I’m asking you not to kill your father, because I assure you; it will follow you for the rest of your life. And your dumbass will probably get caught anyway.”

“No I won’t. I never get caught.” 

Oswald smiles, faintly. Ed is stubborn and he knows how to recognize a liar when he sees one. 

“You always leave a clue behind. One of your stupid puzzles or riddles or whatever the hell that is. You did it in third grade when you released a box full of rats in Mrs. Grimshaw’s classroom. She was just too dumb to figure it out. You did it with me when you wanted to get my attention. First year of high school. I was just too cool to figure it out.”

Ed smiles, ignoring his inside voice. _He underestimates you. They all do._ He leans forward into Oswald’s arms, holding onto him for dear life. 

“Don’t you ever think about killing your dad, Ed,” Oswald mutters into his shoulder.

“Or what?” Ed replies, an air of defiance lingering on his tone, prematurely breaking the hug, chin held up high, eyes sparkling with malice.

Oswald thinks about several replies. Opting for the less serious one. Letting go of his concerns regarding Ed’s homicidal thoughts – if only for a little while.

“I’ll have to help you clean the blood. And that shit is hard to scrub off of wooden floors. Now, can we please get down to business and listen to your obscure rock band music while making out on your bed?”

 

 

Ed drives as fast as he can, laughing at Oswald’s shrieks as he clutches his waist with both arms, his torso firmly pressed against his back.

“Ed, if we die crushed by a car, I’ll fucking kill you!”

Ed laughs, mirth overflowing from his very soul. And for a while, he thinks about the last time he was this happy. Just happy. With no other silly emotion overshadowing his mind.

 _The night is young, Gotham is all yours._ Nothing really matters, apart from the arms around his waist, the breath tickling the nape of his neck, the heart beating beside him.

“Oswald.”

“Mh?”

“I love you.”

“I know, Ed. Just— please, if you love me, drive slower. I’ll make it worth your while.”

 _Oswald Cobblepot. Negotiating. Classic._

They drive past closed stores and busy streets. The city is buzzing, everyone is celebrating. Oswald releases the pressure that he’s been putting around Ed’s waist when they come to a stop near the docks. Ed makes sure to conceal his motorcycle behind a few abandoned crates. 

They walk towards the end of their favorite pier, taking a seat at the edge, legs dangling above the water. The spot is familiar. Grey concrete, and red metallic pillars the only witnesses of their first confession, first kiss, first promises.

Oswald massages his ankle, eyes sweeping over the view. The city lights reflecting on the water add to the eerie atmosphere.

“I love Gotham,” he admits, letting go of his leg to rest a hand on Ed’s thigh. 

Ed nods, approving. “I wish things would change though.”

“How so?” Oswald asks, curious.

“I don’t know. The city needs a bit more— drama. Don’t you get bored, sometimes?”

“Life is boring Ed. But it gets better when I’m with your smartass.”

Ed chuckles, Oswald shivers. It does get colder by the river. “I told you to bring a jacket.” 

Ed takes out his plaid jacket and carefully places it on top of Oswald’s shoulders. Oswald raises his left eyebrow, mockingly. “Such a gentleman Mr. Nygma.”

He fumbles through the pockets and retrieves a folded piece of paper. He reads the score out loud before giving Ed one of his impressed looks. 

“Ed, you’re a genius,” Oswald taps on his lover’s forehead with his index finger, “you could actually change this city if you put your great mind to it. Make it less— boring.” 

“Oh, you,” Ed pretends to be flattered, “med school first and then we’ll see about taking over Gotham City.”

Oswald shakes his head in mock disappointment before putting the piece of paper back into the pocket. 

“Oh, by the way. I have a congratulations gift for you. You deserve it for crushing the entrance exams,” Oswald fumbles through his purple backpack before taking out a magazine carefully sealed in a plastic packaging.

Ed takes it with both hands, mouthing “oh my god”, as soon as he sees the red cover and the design on top of it. 

“The 1971 GLF version of Ink Magazine. Printed in London.”

“Hell yeah, baby.”

“How did you get your hands on this?”

“Maybe I used my contacts in the mob,” Oswald mutters the rest of his sentence, “or maybe I just used all of my savings to get it here in time for your favorite day of the year.”

Ed laughs, all belly, pure bliss pouring out of his very soul. And Oswald looks at him, coming to the sudden realization that he wouldn’t mind getting stuck in a permanent loop just to re-live this moment over and over. 

And when the moment is gone, and Ed stops laughing, and things go back to what they used to be before this breach through heaven itself, he leans in and kisses him. Adoring every inch of his being.

Ed meets him halfway, hands already worshipping him, grabbing at the collar of the plaid jacket, chasing the intimacy. _The whole city could get blown out by one of these lunatics, I wouldn’t care._ His heart is ablaze and his limbs go numb when Oswald’s fingers go from his knee to the inside of his thigh. 

Ed lets out a moan, hiding his face in the curve of Oswald’s neck. 

“Fuck.”

“Language,” Oswald coos, fondly.

“Fuck you,” Ed whispers, his left hand still holding onto the jacket. Knuckles gone white from the pressure.

“Always so needy,” Oswald withdraws his hand. Ed catches his wrist mid-air.

“Always a tease Ozzie. All words, no show.”

Oswald ignores the provocation and grabs Ed’s wrist in turn, planting a kiss on his palm.

“You deserve better than a hand job on a pier, Ed. Besides,” Oswald takes a look at Ed’s watch, “the fireworks are about to start. So shut up and enjoy the show. I overheard Falcone’s men talking about it last night, we’re in for a good one.”

_Enjoy the show, Ed. As long as you can. ___

__There is a lump forming inside of his throat, and he fights against the urge to voice all of his concerns. They suddenly come to him, in waves. And there is nothing, nothing he can do about it._ _

__In a few hours, Oswald will go back to work. Ed will go back to his room and to his father. And this moment will be forever lost._ _

__He cries, the sound of his sobs drowned out by the fireworks. Purple, green, gold. Oswald looks at the water instead of the sky, seemingly enjoying the reflection rather than the show itself._ _

__And Ed closes his eyes when Oswald says it, the hiss of the fireworks insignificant compared to his lover’s voice, “I would do anything for you. Anything, Edward.”_ _

__“I know.”_ _

__“What?” Oswald gasps, scandalized. “I just told you that I’d die for you, you punk.”_ _

__Ed smiles before leaving an open mouthed kiss on his neck. “Do you want me tell you everything I learned about the course of nucleic acids –”_ _

__Oswald doesn’t even give him the opportunity to go on. He kisses him, fiercely, and Ed feels a little bit more optimistic. A little bit more in love._ _

__Growing old on this earth, in Gotham City, with Oswald by his side, wouldn’t be so terrible._ _

_This is your home, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on twitter @cowpoke69. if anyone is interested: [this](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/39/Ink_glf_cover.jpg) is the cover of the magazine mentioned in the last scene. thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Gotham City, August 1978.**

They walk past performers covered in latex from head-to-toe, dancers donning multi-colored feathers around their waist and waitresses dressed in sparkly jumpsuits. The lights flash in and out of his eyesight. And the music – all too loud and simultaneously drowned out by the incessant chatter – is far from his usual tastes.

[ _I used to go out to parties_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OyjB_0s5wPI)

_And stand around_

Ed feels it coming. In the back of his head. The promise of pain. A migraine lurking in the corners of his mind, threatening to ruin his night. 

_'Cause I was too nervous_

_To really get down_

He looks down to the hand holding his. Palm against palm. Fingers lovingly intertwined. And then he looks up at the person who’s been holding on to him from the moment he has entered the club. Oswald’s familiar silhouette leads him through the packed establishment.

_But my body yearned to be free_

_I got up on the floor and thought_

Pride flag neatly tied around his neck, floating behind him like a cape. All eight vibrant colors of the rainbow proudly draped around his body. A ray of sunshine in such a dim and stuffy place. And when they finally approach the table situated at the far end of the club, he tries to focus on the lyrics of the song. 

_Somebody could choose me_

Two men stand in front of the table. One of them catches Ed’s attention. Lean and tall. Not one single hair on his head. No eyebrows either. Odd. Fascinating. And when he spots Oswald, he immediately stops bobbing his head to the music, lips stretching into a smile.

_No more standin' there beside the walls_

_I done got myself together baby_

“Oh jeez, Oz. Lookin’ great. And who’s that,” he asks, gesturing towards Ed, “did you bring your boyfriend? Oh my gosh, so cute.”

“So what? I’m just here to pay my respects to Fish. Move, Victor.”

“Lighten up, Oz. I was just making small talk.”

Ed tries to avert his eyes from looking at Victor’s unique collection of weapons but the temptation is too great. Guns and knives seem to belong to his body, effortlessly blending into his all-black outfit. His attention snaps back to Oswald when they get past the invisible barrier created by the duo of hired protectors.

When he sees her, it is nothing like he’s ever imagined. All those times spent listening to Oswald describing her, glorifying her. The hatred he has nursed inside of his very heart. All the things he imagined himself saying to her. 

It all evaporates, only to be replaced by something different, yet very similar. And suddenly, he understands. Oswald venerates her. And when she invites them to take a seat by her side, and Oswald let’s go of his hand to grab hers, Ed wants to call out his name, in order to make sure that he is still the same person he has fallen in love with.

But he does no such thing. Instead, he just sits next to Oswald. And when she extends her hand to shake his, he tries to shut down his own fears.

“Edward, isn’t it? I’m so glad you made it here, darling. Oswald talks about you all the time.” 

Her voice is softer than what he had expected. She smiles at him, confidently.

“He talks about you all the time as well, Mrs. Mooney. I was starting to wonder what was so amazing about you,” he answers, ignoring the elbow nudge Oswald gives him right below the ribcage.

He focuses on her reaction. Dissatisfied with the way she actually starts laughing out loud. He had hoped for more. Not one of her fits of rage. But maybe something closer to the fierce behavior Oswald seems to treasure so much.

“Oh, he’s a funny one Oswald. I appreciate that. Don’t you let go of him.”

When she stands up, the light reflects on the sequins embedded on her dress. Red, snake-like pattern gifting her an otherworldly aura. Her hand lingers on the side of Oswald’s face. And Ed wants to give in to his impulses. 

“Enjoy the night lovebirds. This is our day after all. Oswald, I’ll see you tomorrow. As for you, Ed,” her fingers let go of Oswald’s jaw, “I truly hope to see more of you. Maybe another time.”

 

 

 

“Why didn’t you bring your motorcycle?” Oswald asks, bummed.

They have been sitting on the stairs leading to Gotham’s cathedral for the past half-hour. _800 feet tall. Neo-gothic style. Boring._ Oswald’s leg has been hurting him since they left Fish’s place and they both sit next to each other, but there is still a considerable distance between the two of them. 

“I don’t know Oswald,” Ed replies, annoyed, “maybe because I’m supposed to be saving money for college, remember? Gasoline doesn’t come out of the Gotham River.”

Oswald scoffs, small clouds of smoke coming out of his mouth and swirling around his face before disappearing.

“What’s with you tonight? Didn’t enjoy yourself?”

“If you’re talking about the Pride Parade, it was great,” Ed says, words coming out of his mouth dryly.

“Then, what’s the matter?” Oswald flicks the remaining part of his cigarette towards the sidewalk. Watching as the end burns bright for a few seconds before dying off.

Ed inhales, adopting the least sarcastic tone he can come up with. “Want me to sugarcoat it? Or should I be honest?”

Oswald looks at him, and watches as Ed meticulously folds the pride flag into a perfect triangle. The night is over; so is his patience.

“I have a question for you, Ed. Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass?”

Ed actually considers the question, setting the flag between the two of them before being distracted by a passing group of men. They all wear the same utility overalls. Green and purple. Or maybe khaki and red. His eyesight is getting worst.

He looks over to his watch. 4:50am. They are heading to work. And he thinks about his dad, who’s probably leaving the house right about now. He gets startled when Oswald’s hand grips his forearm. And when he looks back at him, Oswald’s concern is unavoidable.

“Ed. Talk to me. Is this about Fish?”

_Yes. It is about her. And about you. And the way she keeps turning you into something— someone I don’t recognize anymore. And how you’ve been changing. And I have been standing still. Always the same. Edward Nygma. Irrelevant._

Oswald’s thumb presses against his skin. Calming. Familiar. Grounding. Forming tiny little circles over his flesh. Ed silences his consciousness. And his truth.

“No. I’m just— tired. I want to go home.”

 

 

 

They make it to Oswald’s house by 5:17am. His mother is in the front yard, hanging some laundry on an old rope. When she sees them, she drops the blouse she was holding and holds out both of her arms. Blonde curls framing her face. Blue eyes so similar to Oswald’s. 

“Edward! So tall now. So handsome.”

Ed leans into her embrace, slightly frowning when she squeezes him a little bit too hard. Her perfume is the same as always. _Roses. A hint of peach. Patchouli._

“Hi, Mrs. Kapleput.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Just tired.”

“How was your night? Did you have great time at your friend’s party? I hope you boys didn’t drink much. It’s bad for your health. Cheap vodka. Not like the one from my country—”

“Mom, please,” Oswald implores, “Ed was just dropping me off.”

“Are you hungry Edward?” she goes on, ignoring her son’s pleas, “You want something to eat, maybe cereal? Cookies? Goulash from last night?”

Oswald sighs. Impatient. Ed considers the offer, while she let’s go of him. Just enough to see his face. And he gives her a faint smile. His tiredness is too great to decline her offer. She will insist, and his stomach produces a sound when she starts talking again. He is hungry.

“It’s good for hangover,” she brings him into another embrace, “Why don’t you come more often, mh? My food not good enough for your taste?”

“Mom. Can we just please get inside before you squeeze him into oblivion?”

 

 

 

Oswald lies down on the living room’s carpet. Face turned towards the TV post. Dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Laughing at Kermit the frog and his friend’s shenanigans. Glorious in all of his laziness.

Ed sits on the couch. Ignoring the annoying voices of the puppets. Eating his now turned cold bowl of goulash. Entirely focused on the sight of Oswald. Carefree. Happy. Immaculate. He knows that the moment is only temporary. And he already dreads its death. Cursing the inevitable passing of time. 

“Oswald.”

“Mh,” Oswald is in a daze, tip-toeing over the edge of sleep, “what, Ed?”

“You should go to bed.”

“Nah. I’m good right here. Sleep in my room if you want.”

And the moment is gone. Forever. Barely able to cling onto Ed’s memory. He stands up and throws the half-eaten bowl into the sink before making his way upstairs, towards Oswald’s room. 

_You should’ve said something. Done something. Before it’s all too late._

He takes off his clothes, one by one, shedding layer after layer in a monotonous way. And when he gets under the covers, submerged by Oswald’s scent, he tries not to drown into an ocean of his own fears. 

He looks at the ceiling before closing his eyes, picturing the one in his room so vividly in his mind. Paper planes hanging from strings of black thread, his old solar system mobile dancing and clinking under a light breeze. 

In the adjoining room, Mrs. Kapelput puts on a record. And when the song starts off, the soprano voice of the singer bleeds through the walls. Ed listens, hands holding onto the percale fabric of the bedsheets. And the air gets colder, his heart beats faster, and the music goes on.

[ _How could you leave me_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BW3gKKiTvjs)

_When I needed to possess you?_

_I hated you, I loved you too_

_Bad dreams in the night_

_They told me I was going to lose the fight_

 

 

 

**Gotham City, November 1978.**

“Hello? Is anyone home?” 

Oswald knocks on the wooden door several times, waiting for someone to open it. He tries to peek out the window, but the opaque curtains are drawn shut. He paces on the front porch, wondering what he should do next. 

Five minutes later, he pushes past the door of Ed’s home. 

“Ed? Ed? Oh, sh—” Oswald stumbles on a pair of heavy combat boots thrown in the middle of the entrance.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbles, bracing himself against the wall before kicking one of the boots in the opposite direction. Ed’s boots. The pair he got right before going to college in September. 

From where he stands, he can see the blueish light of the TV screen coming from the living room. The absence of human sound gives him the creeps and he shudders in surprise when the neighbor screams at his children to get inside for lunch. He ignores the pain in his leg, moving forward, limping a bit more than usual. 

He reaches for his gun when he hears it. A faint sound that he cannot identify. Coming from behind the kitchen counter. Right next to the sofa. He walks past the open kitchen, briefly looking at the box of Fruity Pebbles scattered on the counter and the floor. 

And when he sees him, dark curls bouncing against his forehead as he scrubs the wooden floor, he sighs in relief.

“Ed, you scared the shit out of me! My mom told me you called. I wasn’t home so I got here as soon as I heard. And I thought it was weird because it’s Monday and you’re supposed to be at school. So, what now? You skip classes?”

Ed doesn’t reply. He just scrubs and scrubs. He scrubs until Oswald looks over to the TV screen and curses under his breath.

“Fuck Ed. Do you see this shit? They killed Harvey Milk. Your father is gonna be so happy about that.”

And again, Ed doesn’t reply. And when Oswald tries to walk past the couch to turn the volume of the TV up and his feet bumps into something – too heavy to be a pair of boots – he talks before Oswald can form any coherent word.

“Don’t scream. Please. Just—don’t say anything,” he whispers, before frantically resuming his scrubbing.

Oswald stumbles backwards until the side of the countertop presses against his lower back. And at last, he actually looks at the scene before him.

Ed’s father lies unconscious on the floor. Right next to the couch. Face down. Blood running down his left temple. Oswald notices the way it has covered his nose and mouth. How it is now staining the wooden floor.

“Ed— what have you done?”

Ed stops scrubbing. For the first time in what could have been ages. And he stands up, bringing the cloth he has been using to the sink before washing it under cold water. Oswald follows Ed. Looking at him in blatant fascination.

“Nothing. He just—got on my nerves.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing Oswald!” Ed snaps, turning his head to look at his lover. Eyes full of something once alien to him.

“Okay. Let’s leave the motive to the GCPD. They might figure it out thirty years from now if they’re lucky. What’s your plan then? Get rid of the body? In the trash maybe? Or put him on the back of your motorcycle and dump him into the river?”

Ed lifts his blood-stained right hand to let it rest against Oswald’s mouth.

“Oswald. If you don’t shut it, I—”

“What? You’ll kill me?” Oswald’s muffled voice dares him to even try. “The word for killing one’s father is patricide. What is it for a boyfriend, mh? You’re the smart one after all.”

Ed’s lower lip twitches. And Oswald suddenly wants to take it all back. The banter and the way he feels this incessant urge to distract Ed from whatever shitty situation he’s put himself into.

But there is no way, no way, to take back what Ed has done. And when Ed’s legs give up and he slides against the kitchen cabinet to kneel on the floor, Oswald joins him.

Ed cries. Almost too calmly. And Oswald pities him. 

He holds him. Comforts him. Soft words, for such a violent crime. 

“I feel so lonely,” Ed whispers, “so lonely. Even with you by my side.”

Oswald closes his eyes, fingers softly brushing through Ed’s unruly hair.

“This is a lonely path. Grief. Murder. Dealing with the aftermath. But trust me Ed. You’ll get over it.”

_You’ll get used to it._

 

 

 

Ed sits under the shower head, knees pressed against his chest, watching as the blood gets washed out by the water pressure. He has no more tears left to shed. No more fears to hide. Nothing left to hold him back.

He listens to the sound of Oswald’s voice, cursing at the phone, probably because no one is replying on the other side of the line. He’s been trying to get men on the scene in order to get rid of the body.

_The scene? Your crime scene Ed. Yours._

Ed stands up, legs still trembling from the adrenaline. He shampoos his hair, making sure to get rid of the dried out blood. 

_Next time, don’t hit an artery. You need to be less— messy._

He exits the bathroom before his own mind gets the better of him. Oswald is still trying to dial the correct number when he goes to lie down on his bed.

Ed listens to the familiar sound of Oswald’s voice when he finally gets someone on the other line. He seems to have been molded for this life. Giving orders. Obeying orders. Taking lives. Sparing lives.

Somehow, Ed feels like he will never be part of his world. And the truth hits him. As fast as a bullet. Softer than the sharp blade of a knife.

_It is your show, Ed. Your game. Your time to shine._

Ed gets disconnected from his fantasies when Oswald sits next to him on the bed. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Ed briefly looks out the window. The sun is setting. The last rays of sunshine reflect on his solar system mobile. The moon is his favorite. He loves the sleepless nights. The ones he spends alone, as much as the ones he shares with his love.

“Like someone who just killed his asshole of a father,” he says, sitting up, getting closer to Oswald.

Oswald pulls out a funny face. Something between a frown and a surprised expression. Ed laughs, head resting in the curve of Oswald’s neck. His favorite place on earth.

“Zsasz is going to send some of his men. I’ll owe this baldie favors until the rest of my days.”

“Oswald.”

“Yes?”

Ed stands up. Tightening the knot of his bathrobe around his waist. And then he proceeds to extend a hand towards Oswald who seems to be trying to understand what is going on.

“Dance with me.”

Oswald hesitates. Only for a second. 

They dance. Slowly. Oswald leads. Ed follows. Letting go of the voices in his head. Desperately trying to escape what seems to be his inevitable fate. 

_Let go._

_Shine on._

And when they’re done, they both lie down on the bed, with more in common right now than the last time they were in this room; together.

 

 

 

“I love you,” Ed doesn’t know any another way to express his gratitude. Words. He relies on them. And currently, it’s all that he has left.

This, and the everlasting presence of the man he adores.

“What are you thinking about?” Oswald asks, curious, head resting against Ed’s chest, looking up at him. Traces of smudged eyeliner on the left cheek. Hair all tousled. Cheeks still slightly pink from all the blushing.

Ed smiles at him, in awe of the mess he’s made of his boyfriend. And it comes to him; naturally.

 

“What is everywhere, but nowhere, except where something is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on twitter @cowpoke69. [this](https://www.shrimptoncouture.com/products/documented-1974-bill-blass-red-sequin-snakeskin-print-halter-dress) is the dress fish mooney wears in the first scene. the original rainbow flag used to have eight colors. harvey milk was killed on the 27th of november 1978. the answer to ed's riddle is: nothing. thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Gotham City, December 1978.**

Oswald answers the phone in a heartbeat. He’s been sitting on the floor all evening. Waiting for a call. On the other end of the line, a familiar voice asks the same old question.

“ _You have a collect call from Gotham City University Dormitory, 171 Carnage Street, Hall D, do you accept the charges?_ ”

“Yes,” Oswald replies. In the background, he is able to hear Ed’s slow and regular breathing.

“Hello, Ed.” Oswald goes first. Ed never does. 

“Oswald,” his voice sounds terribly strained. Or maybe it is due to the fact that Oswald hasn’t heard it for a couple of weeks. They’ve been exchanging letters, mostly.

Oswald’s nails – painted in a navy blue – nervously scratch against the surface of the carpet. He is able to hear the neighbor’s children playing in their backyard. Their joyful screams almost drown out the sound of his lover’s voice.

“Talk to me. Please.”

Oswald closes his eyes. Ed’s plea resonating through his heart. It hurts him more than he would like to admit. This is how things have been working. He does the talking. And Ed listens, cries – sometimes, but never talks much. 

“I went to the arcade yesterday. Your name is still on the legends board. I didn’t play. I just— I wanted to, but I figured I should wait for you. Promise: I’ll let you win.”

Ed chuckles. A hollow sound coming from a hollow place. And Oswald wants to reach out to him, but there is nothing, no words, no letters, no gesture that would be powerful enough to resurrect what was once very much alive and is now gone.

Ed is not the same. He hasn’t been since he killed his father. And Oswald tries to make his peace with it every time they talk, touch or write to each other.

“Are you coming over for Christmas?” Oswald asks, dreading the answer.

“I don’t know yet. I have—” Ed seems to be wrestling with himself, in a desperate attempt to find the proper words, “I have to study for the finals and then I’ll see. Maybe. I just— I don’t know yet.”

“It’s fine,” the first half of the sentence comes out harsher than what Oswald had imagined in his mind, “it’s fine, Ed. I just think that it’d be great for you. You know— seeing people, eating my mom’s food.”

“I already— I see people Oswald.” Ed sounds distressed. More than usual. “I see—” A pause. Again. 

Oswald’s nails dig deep into the carpet. “I see the teachers, and the other students. It’s enough.”

“I can come over this week-end. Just for a few hours. We could go see a movie. Zsasz told me they’re still showing _Halloween_ at the old theatre downtown.”

“I don’t have the time.”

“For the movie? Or for me?”

“Oswald. You know that I— miss you.”

“Do you? Do you miss me Ed?”

“I do.”

Oswald bites the inside of his cheek, already regretting his tone, his words, his doubts. 

“What can I do, Ed? Tell me.”

“Keep writing. I just— You can’t imagine how much your letters cheer me up.” 

Oswald is startled when his mother calls him for dinner, screaming his name from the kitchen.

“I need to go.”

“I heard.”

“Good luck on your exams.” Oswald tries not to make the next part sound too grave, “And Ed?”

“Yes.”

“Please, don’t do anything reckless.”

Ed remains silent. Oswald’s chest constricts upon hearing the choked out sound he makes when he finally tries to say something.

“Don’t worry. I’m— I love you Oswald.”

 

 

 

Oswald almost chokes on his glass of Kool-Aid when his mother mentions Ed. They’re having dinner in the kitchen, on the mosaic table he bought her with his first pay. The space is small, but it’s what he has known for almost a decade. 

“Did your boyfriend call you?”

Oswald tries to look at her without fully tilting his head up, dabbing at the spilled drink on his white [Vivienne Westwood t-shirt](https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/shirt/cgEHu7UKeNAw7g). His mother frowns at him, gesturing towards the design printed on his t-shirt.

“Never liked this t-shirt. It is too— vulgar.”

“Mom, it’s just a pair of breasts. There’s nothing vulgar— or sexual, about boobs.”

Gertrud doesn’t reply. But she looks at him, with a fondness that he sometimes fears. And he looks back at her, with the frightful knowledge that one day she will be missing from his life, along with the love that seems to be pouring out of her, endlessly. 

“Ed called, yeah.”

“He okay?”

“I don’t know.”

Gertrud seems to have lost all interest in her plate. Her fingers lightly brush over Oswald’s right forearm, and he tries not to ease into it too fast. He is still trying to wonder what she really meant by “boyfriend”. His eyes dart over her delicate fingers. 

“I know you care about Ed. Very much, Oswald,” her tone is neutral, non-judgmental. 

Oswald looks up, finding it hard not to be surprised by what he perceives behind his mother’s gaze. And there is suddenly a whole new feeling growing inside of his heart. A sense of comfort.

“How did you— how did you know?”

His mother’s smile widens, her hand leaves his forearm, and she resumes eating her salad. 

“You think your _anya_ is dumb? I see you. With love in your eyes. And I see you steal kiss from him. I see everything.”

Oswald blushes, up to his ears. But a chuckle escapes his lips. And he relaxes in his seat.

“And— you don’t mind it?”

“What?” His mother picks at a ripe cherry tomato with the tip of her fork.

“That I’m dating a man. You don’t— you don’t care?” Oswald asks, still trying to process the fact that they’re having this conversation.

His mother shrugs before putting her fork back on the table. This time, her hand grabs his wrist. The soft touch of a mother who has never laid a hand on her son, never raised her voice against him. 

“I care when you get sick. I care when you come home late. I care when you don’t eat my goulash. I do not care whether you date boy or girl, Oswald.”

Oswald offers her a faint smile, relief briefly taking over his concerns. Although he cannot help but to think about Ed. How lonely he must be in that dorm room. Probably surrounded by his textbooks.

“Mom?”

“ _Igen._ ”

“I think Ed is sick.”

“Does he have fever?”

“No.”

“Then, cough?”

“No, I— I think it’s another type of sickness.”

“What is it?”

“I need to leave,” Oswald blurts out, standing up to grab his worn out leather jacket from the back of his chair.

He leaves the house before his mother even has time to register what he said, stepping out in the cold early December weather, shivering from the wind and the anxiousness.

 

 

 

He manages to get a taxi around 8:56pm. The cab driver talks to him during the whole drive, giving him a detailed commentary on the current state of the city.

“Heard they’re re-opening The Sirens Club. I don’t know much about the night life, figured it would appeal to youngsters like ya’.”

Oswald grows restless on the back seat. He’s been trying to avoid the conversation since he got into the car. The driver looks at him through the rearview mirror, waiting for an answer.

“Well,” Oswald wants to get over with it, but the traffic seems to be getting slower and slower, “I’m not planning to go there.”

“Why not? Not your taste?”

“I don’t like the new owners,” Oswald produces a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket, “want one?”

“Nah, thanks. Trying to quit. Roll down the window, will ya? Don’t want to suffocate.”

Oswald does as he’s been told, rolling down the window until the external sounds become clearer. They’ve been stuck on St. Barnabas street for fifteen minutes. The radio starts playing one of [the songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STugQ0X1NoI) he used to listen to on the summer he started working for Fish. 

Things have changed, but the melody pricks at his memory and old souvenirs surface. The nicotine seems to be doing its job, and this time, he doesn’t frown at the driver’s intrusive question.

“You got plans for the future?”

Oswald closes his eyes, enjoying the way Godley and Creme’s angelic voices clash with the harsh sounds coming from the surrounding streets.

“Yeah.”

“Mind telling me more?”

“I don’t know, Sir. Surviving. Mainly. This is Gotham City after all, I don’t really expect to become the next mayor.”

“Hah,” the driver giggles, suddenly sounding twenty years younger, “you sound so different from my nephew.”

“Ah, really?” Oswald couldn’t sound more disinterested.

“He has big plans for the city. Says he'll become the next DA or some bullshit.” 

The driver takes a turn on Carnage Street. Oswald finishes the rest of his cigarette in a hurry before rolling the window up.

“What’s his name?”

“Harvey. You know him?”

“Nah, and hopefully I will never. District attorney’s and people like me usually despise each other.”

“People like you, huh? So you fancy yourself becoming someone after all.”

“I don’t— thank you for the ride, Sir.” Oswald rummages through his pockets for a few seconds and opens the back door before handing two twenty-dollar bills to the driver. He exits the car, facing the tall apartment buildings serving as dormitories for most of the student body.

“See you around, kiddo.”

 

 

 

“Ed, open the fucking door.”

“Go away.”

“Ed, please. I just want to check on you.”

“I’m fine. I’m just— I’m fine Oswald.”

Oswald kneels in front of the massive metallic door separating him from Ed. If he’s learned one thing from the company he keeps at Fish’s club, it is to always go somewhere equipped with the proper tools.

It takes him only a few minutes to pick the lock. One of the students living opposite Ed’s room stops in her tracks on her way to her room. Looking at Oswald with a wide-eyed expression. Acting like it’s her first time seeing him in this building.

“Move along. I’m not here to rob him, don’t worry,” Oswald says, all sass.

The girl opens the door to her room in a record time and curses at him once she is sure that she’ll be able to get inside quickly if needed.

“Screw you, penguin lookin’ creep.”

Oswald has half a mind of shooting at her with his gun, in order to dissuade her from calling him names. Instead, he opts for a solution that won’t cost him any ammunition.

He stands up, retrieving his newly acquired switch blade from his breast pocket. Its sharp blade shines under the dim yellowish light of the corridor.

“Next time I see you, you better keep your mouth shut! Or I’ll fucking rip your lungs out of your chest. Understood?” Oswald holds out the tip of the blade dangerously close to her sternum.

The girl looks at the blade. Then at Oswald. And she lets out a sound between a sob and a squeal before closing the door behind her.

“Oswald?” 

Upon hearing his name, he turns around, only to find Ed’s head peeking through his door. Oswald carefully folds the blade before putting it back where it belongs.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants,” he says in a deadpan manner, pushing past Ed to get access to his room.

 

 

 

Oswald sits on the bed, in the middle of a pile of books, random sheets of paper and manuals. He grabs one of the paperback books, looking at the cover while completely ignoring the fact that Ed is certainly trying to pace his way through the floor in the middle of the room.

“ _Interview with the Vampire?_ Really?”

“I told you not to come over, Oswald.”

Oswald throws the book back onto the messy bed. It’s a miracle that he’s been able to find a spot to sit on. And it’s clear that Ed hasn’t been using this bed to sleep. The rest of the room looks decent, especially the little kitchenette, completely unused.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Ed stops pacing to sit on the floor, nervous, resting his back against the fridge door. 

Oswald wonders how he has managed to fit all of his belongings into such a tiny space. The bank took his motorcycle first, then the house, and all that was left of Ed’s previous life is here, caught between four walls and a roof.

Ed rocks back and forth, holding his knees against his chest. His hair is wild, unkempt, probably dirty. Oswald wants to drag him home and force him to stay under the shower drain for an hour.

“I told you not to come over.” Ed’s tone lacks reproach this time.

Oswald presses both of his palms against his eyes, enjoying the tiny little stars that seem to be dancing against his shut eyelids. Trying to steady his voice before talking.

“And I told you that I miss you. I won’t let you rot inside of that room. Do you even see yourself, Ed?”

Ed holds out his hands in front of him, studying them, as if for the first time in forever. He flexes the fingers of his right hand. The one he used to strike his father in the head. Oswald leaves the bed when he starts sobbing.

Tears. Rejection. Ed seems to be going down a spiral of self-destruction. Oswald pulls the pieces back together, but it gets harder every time.

Oswald kneels next to him, panting from the strain in his leg. He doesn’t touch Ed. The last time he did; Ed screamed at him so loudly that his nosy neighbor must’ve heard.

Ed grabs onto his wrist, fingers wet from the salty tears he’s been trying to stop. He fights for air, losing the battle every time he tries to breathe in. Oswald looks at him, with a heart so pained by what he sees that he might as well rip it off his own chest.

“Ed, listen to me,” he says, dismissing the fact that Ed is crushing his wrist with the way he’s been holding onto him, “breathe. Just— breathe.”

And for the following minutes, he guides him through his panic attack. Oswald sits on the floor, right next to him, and after a while, the bone crushing pressure against his wrist lessens.

Oswald reaches up to Ed's left cheek, catching the course of a tear with his thumb. Ed rests his head against the fridge, breath uneven, lips still trembling from the episode.

“I would die for you. I would kill for you. I would do anything for you. But please, Ed. Listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” Ed uses the sleeve of his oversized t-shirt to wipe out the stubborn tears on his cheeks.

“I think—,” Oswald is cautious, tone so low that he thinks Ed could mishear what he says next, “I think you need to seek professional help.”

Ed chews him bottom lip, expression unreadable. Oswald looks at him, eyes full of despair and a little bit of hope. 

And finally, Ed nods. Once. Briefly.

“Is that a yes?” Oswald asks, tentatively.

“I guess so. But only if it’s with my peers.”

“What does that even mean?” Oswald asks, genuinely wondering what Ed is implying by that.

“The university allows you to get free consultations from other psychology students. They’re all in their last year, they’ll be graduating in June.”

“Ed, I don’t—”

“I won’t go to a registered psychiatrist. I’ll probably end up in Arkham. I just, I can’t do that Oswald.”

Oswald lies down on the floor, letting out a frustrated noise. “It’s just—whatever, Ed. As long you get the help you need.”

Ed reaches out to brush his fingers against Oswald’s left temple. 

“You’d kill for me, huh?”

Oswald shrugs, “This is how we say “I love you” in Gotham. Besides, I’m a huge melodramatic queen, you said it yourself.” 

Ed struggles to let out a laugh, but the sound – no matter how faint it is – warms Oswald’s heart.

“Oh, by the way,” Oswald says, lazily picking out something from his pocket, “I got you this little pre-Christmas gift on the way here.”

Ed looks up, expectant, and Oswald places a blue and red packaging into his extended palm. A _Ring Pop_. Ed’s favorite candy. 

“Should I be wearing something less casual. Are you making things official? I should’ve shaved,” Ed jokes, the palm of his free hand rubbing against his three-day stubble. “Yeah, I should probably shave.”

Oswald watches, silently, as Ed opens the packaging, before handing out the green and turquoise candy to him.

“I’ll let you do the honors.”

Oswald sits up and gladly accepts his duty. “Edward Nygma, will you be mine for as long as this ring lasts?”

“I do.”

Ed hums when Oswald seals the silly promise with a kiss. And for a brief moment, he forgets about his torments. 

In the background, Ed’s cuckoo clock rings out to indicate that it’s already 11pm, and Oswald breaks out the dizzying kiss in a hurry.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Ed cocks his head to the side, grabbing him by the collar to pull him into another kiss, but Oswald stands up in a frenzy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Oswald, actual sentences, please?” Ed stands up, going after Oswald as he puts his black platform shoes back on.

“Fish’s gonna kill me. I’m supposed to go to Maroni’s to retrieve a package for her.”

“A package?” Ed looks at him, frowning, obviously dissatisfied with the situation. “What package?”

“I don’t know, Ed. She doesn’t really specify what’s inside those packages.”

“So what,” Ed says, bummed to see him leave in such a hurry, “you’re her errand boy now?”

Oswald doesn’t reply, too busy tying his shoelaces, but Ed notices the way his jaw clenches and his eyes roll out towards the ceiling. 

“Okay, Ed. We’ll talk about your fear of Fish and her mysterious packages later. Come over for Christmas, okay? Or you can bet your ass I’ll throw your gift into the fire.”

Oswald grabs him by the collar for one last kiss before leaving, making sure to nibble on Ed’s lower lip long enough to draw a moan out of him. 

“Be careful,” Ed implores, words falling into the void of his empty room. 

Oswald is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on twitter @cowpoke69. thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Gotham City, December 1978.**

“Ugh, we’re gonna miss the Christmas special.”

“Do I look like I care about the Christmas special, Ed?”

Oswald throws his cigarette butt on the snowy sidewalk, watching as its light flickers one last time before dying out. On his left, Ed dances on his feet, freezing, even though he’s been wearing a warm checkered coat and his old green and yellow scarf.

Oswald tilts his head up and looks at him. Ed looks offended, but also terribly caught off guard by his reply. Oswald huffs out a laugh, marveled by his puzzled expression.

“I was joking. If we miss the Christmas special, you’ll never stop complaining about it. And I clearly don’t need that.”

“You’re the worst,” Ed’s expression seems to relax a little bit when the bus finally pulls up to a stop right in front of them.

Oswald gets in first, scrunching his nose when the smell hits him. Sweat, roasted turkey coming from the bag of an old lady, and probably piss. He spots a pair of free seats in the back of the vehicle and immediately makes his way towards it.

A little girl looks at him, clearly fascinated by the way his dark hair seems to be going in a thousand different directions. And when Oswald sits right behind her, she turns around, her cropped straight black hair covering one of her eyes as she cocks her head to the left, observing him in pure wonder.

“Mister?” Oswald winces, surprised by her mouse like voice. 

He looks at Edward, who is still buying a pair of tickets from the driver. Oswald never pays for public transportation. Bad habit, but still a habit.

“Mister?”

Oswald’s attention snaps back to the little girl right as Ed finally makes his way to the back of the bus, carrying a black duffle bag on his left shoulder and a bunch of textbooks in the crease of his right arm.

“What?” Oswald replies, annoyed by the fact that the little girl’s mother seems to be more focused on her novel rather than on her daughter talking to a stranger.

“You look like a bird.”

Oswald bites the inside of his cheek, eyes rolling towards the ceiling, wondering why on earth children speak without a damn filter. When Ed sits next to him, the little girl is still looking at him, expecting a reply.

“No way? You’re the first one to tell me that,” Oswald sneers, before looking out the window.

Ed, who is still in the midst of trying not to let all of his precious textbooks fall onto the dirty ground ignores the whole situation. The little girl let’s out a surprised sound.

“Well, you look like one. I love birds. They’re so pretty. Do you like them, Mister?”

Oswald looks back at her, taken aback by her child-like kindness. At last, Ed stops fumbling through his bag and looks at the little girl as well.

“Hey, you?” He says, seemingly interested by the conversation. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“You like birds, right?”

“Yes. I love them. I just said it, didn’t you hear?”

“Well,” Ed starts, and Oswald looks at him with an unreadable expression. Observing a master at work. “Did you know that birds don’t talk?”

The little girl let’s out a high-pitched laugh. “Of course, silly. I know that.”

Oswald frowns, surprised by the fact that Ed doesn’t seem to mind the way she just talked to him. The mother still focuses on her book, completely unaware of the situation. Or maybe just not minding much. Oswald is still hesitant.

“Everybody knows that birds don’t talk, Sir. I’m five, I’m not dumb.”

“Well, maybe you could do the same. Maybe you could stay silent.” Ed tries as hard as he can not to sound offended, and Oswald’s expression turns into an amused one.

“No way. I love talking. I love it. Talking is fun. I don’t get to talk much at home.”

Ed sighs, heavily, sensing that he might be losing that fight. He fumbles through his coat pockets for a moment before holding out a bunch of shiny quarters in the palm of his hand. 

The little girl looks at them; fascinated. Following Ed’s every move; enjoying the way the coins rattle against each other when his hand sways from left to right.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Maggie. But my friends call me Mag.”

“Well, Maggie.” Oswald swears he could see the gears turning inside of Ed’s brain. “Do you like magpies?”

“Yes.”

“Magpies love shiny objects. Do you like shiny objects?”

The little girl nods, and Oswald watches in confusion as Ed offers her the nickel-clad quarters.

“There you go,” he whispers.

The little girl takes the quarters, forms the words “thank you” without making a sound, and turns around to sit back next to her mother.

“How did you do it?” Oswald asks, turning sideways to look at Ed.

Ed looks at the book the mother has been reading. That’s when he notices the blank pages, and the way her index finger brushes against the little bumps replacing the ink that would normally form the words.

He understands now. “She just needed something to focus on.”

Oswald’s hand twitches. He’d love to hold Ed. Reassure him. Tell him that things will be okay. Because it is written all over his lover’s face. The fear, the distress, and another emotion that he cannot bring himself to decipher.

But instead, he just looks at him, fighting against the urge to pull him into an embrace.

“And did you? Did you find something to focus on?” He asks, putting his fingerless gloves back on as they approach their stop.

Ed takes a look at his textbooks, neatly stacked in a pile on his lap. And then at his bag, mysteriously smirking. As if he’d just told himself a joke.

“I think so.”

 

 

 

Oswald rests his head on Ed's lap as the show plays on the TV screen. It is the Charlie Brown Christmas special and they've missed the first twenty minutes, but Ed seems to be enjoying himself, nevertheless.

Ed’s fingers play with his lover's hair, and Oswald enjoys his touch, peaceful, as he watches Ed instead of the screen. And when Ed laughs, his heart is full of something he thought he had lost forever.

He doesn’t know if it is love, or just the relief to realize that Ed still has a little bit of happiness left inside of him. When Ed’s fingers brush past his lips, he nibbles at them, appreciating the purr-like sound that comes from the back of Ed's throat.

“You sound like a cat,” he whispers, more to himself than him.

Ed doesn't notice. Oswald bites onto his middle finger this time, and that’s when Ed reacts, hissing at him with both of his eyes still glued on to the screen.

“Stop that, Oswald.”

“What?” Oswald asks, feigning surprise.

“Stop distracting me.”

“Ah, yes. Your boyfriend distracting you from the love of your life, Charlie Brown.” Oswald mutters.

He turns his head to face the TV, thinking about what happened with the little girl earlier. The childish wonder in her eyes when Ed gave her the quarters. The way she immediately stopped talking. The expression on Ed’s features when he looked down to his textbooks.

And Oswald wonders if this is what their future holds. Him, running around Gotham City with criminals. And Ed working as a medical examiner, under the thumb of the GCPD.

“You could do so much more.” He thinks out loud. Too loud.

Ed replies in a matter of seconds, suddenly not so interested in the show. “What?”

“Nothing.” Oswald says, before sitting up. From there, he can see the neighbor’s children playing with the snow in their front yard.

“You said something. I heard you. Were you talking about yourself or about me?” 

Ed scoot closer to Oswald, hugging him from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. When he looks over to where the children are throwing snow balls at each other, he tries to remember the last time he actually felt like a child. 

_A lifetime ago._

Oswald remains silent, enjoying Ed’s warmth against his back. Ed tries his luck again; this time his tone is softer. 

“What did you mean by that Oswald?”

Oswald tears his gaze away from the children. He nods towards the old upright piano standing right under the window. 

“Do you mind playing something for me? Please.”

Ed’s lips linger on the back of Oswald’s neck, brushing past his ear to finally rest against his cheek. Breath hot against Oswald’s cold skin.

And he wants to protest. He wants to push past those invisible barriers that prevent him from taking a peek at Oswald’s thoughts. He’s always been good at dissimulating what he actually is thinking.

_Not fair._

“Haven’t played in months. I’m rusty.”

“Please.”

Ed sighs, before letting go of him. His knees crack when he stands up, and when he walks towards the piano he pretends to stretch like an athlete. Oswald laughs as Ed sits on the wooden stool and opens up the keyboard cover.

“What do you want me to play?”

“Whatever you want.” Oswald grabs the hand-knit blanket and pulls it over his legs, making himself comfortable on the couch.

Ed thinks about several pieces he’s learned over the years. The ones he used to play with his mother; those, he holds dear to his heart. And then, the ones he used to play after her death; the emotions surrounding them still unclear to him.

“I need to warm up,” he whispers, not sure if Oswald has heard him.

He has. “Start with the Star Wars theme, maybe.”

“What?” Ed turns around, facing him with a full-on smile plastered on his lips. “Did you just mention Star Wars?”

Oswald rolls out his eyes. “I remember you liking the score, even though that movie is pure garbage.”

“Fine.” Ed cracks his knuckles before pressing against the main keys. Some of the notes sound so terrible that he grimaces. 

“You’re the only one who ever uses that piano. My mom stopped trying when the neighbors started to complain,” Oswald informs him, gesturing towards the neighbor’s house, “thin walls.”

Ed tries to tune the piano as much as he can before he even begins to think about what the Star Wars theme sounds like. He only gets it past the first notes before giving up.

“Play whatever Ed.” 

“Okay,” Ed replies, glad that he doesn’t have to fail at playing that theme once again.

And for the next thirty minutes, he plays several popular pieces while Oswald tries to guess them properly. _The Pink Panther theme. Vivaldi’s Winter._ An off-tune version of _Carmen’s Habanera._ And even his own arrangement of the Space Invaders theme.

And then he plays [Oswald’s favorite.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNcsUNKlAKw) The one he used to play when they were still trying to understand what would happen to them if someone found out about the nature of their relationship. If someone saw them. If someone just knew, only by looking at them.

 

 

 

Second year of high-school. Oswald recalls it with lucid precision.

Holding hands when they were at a student’s theatre representation. Clumsily stealing kisses in the boy’s bathroom. Ed sending Oswald rebuses that no one, not even Oswald himself sometimes, could decipher. 

Trying to make sense of what was happening to him. To them.

Ed fearing so much that his father would find out about them that one foggy evening, he showed up on Oswald’s front porch and begged him to break up with him.

_“Do it, please” he’d said, unable to look him in the eye, “I can’t be the one who breaks your heart.”_

How Oswald had just looked at him, standing still, frail looking but ever so strong. How he had grabbed Ed by the sleeve of his suede jacket and how he had whispered as loud as he could into the night. Paradoxical.

_“Edward Nygma, don’t you ever try to pull this shit on me, because if you truly wanted to leave me, you wouldn’t be outside after curfew.”_

 

 

 

Ed plays. Oswald listens. Eyes closed. Holding onto the blanket. Firmly. Trying to ground himself as much as he can. Losing the battle. Thinking about that night. Wondering if Ed thinks about it too, sometimes.

And he snaps out of it when Ed hits a wrong note and stops playing. Silence. Followed by a tone so bitter that Oswald opens his lids, immediately.

“My father is dead, but nothing has changed.”

“What do you mean?”

Ed looks out the window. The children are gone.

“I’m still struggling. I’m still –-struggling. I don’t know what it is. But it’s here,” Ed rests the palm of his hand against his chest, “it won’t go away.”

From where he sits, Oswald doesn’t see his face. But Ed’s voice is enough. It is enough. And Oswald wishes he could take it all away. The anguish. The pain. The treacherous thoughts that seem to be feeding on his lover’s sanity. 

Day and night. Night and day.

Christmas is in two days, and his lover is hurting, and there is nothing he can do about it. 

“Do you ever cry, Oswald?” Ed asks. Tone suddenly back to something less jittery. Deeper. “I’ve known you for three years. I’ve never seen you cry. Do you even cry? Or is it just me?”

Oswald is taken aback by the question. He remembers the last time he cried. A memory so fresh in his mind that he wonders if it hasn’t actually happened only a few seconds ago.

His voice sounds dry, just like his throat, he suddenly wants to go to the kitchen, gulp down a glass of water, and go as far away from this conversation as he can.

“I do cry.”

“When, exactly? When was the last time you cried Oswald? Do you cry softly? Or loudly? ‘Cause that’s funny. I’ve never seen you cry. I don’t even know what you look like when you’re crying. Fucking funny, huh?”

Oswald looks at him. At the dark hair on the nape of his neck. At the way the street lamps shine a yellowish light on him. The TV screen has turned grey and black. The static noise it makes is drowned out by Ed’s sobbing.

The blanket doesn’t warm him anymore. And he gets so cold that he wonders if one of the windows isn’t open but quickly realizes that he’s been shaking from the shock. He looks at the way Ed is slowly rocking back and forth on that wooden stool. Different. 

Oswald remains silent as he throws the blanket onto the floor. Suddenly understanding why Ed has been in such a good mood. He gets on his knees in order to fumble through Ed’s bag. Ed doesn’t protest. He just looks out the window. At the draped figure on the other side of the street.

“Remember the last time you talked to me on the phone?”

Oswald doesn’t reply, he’s too busy emptying the contents of the bag. When he finally sees it, a small tin box with a seagull printed on it, he curses under his breath. He opens it, only to find three pills left inside. _Mandrax._

“Remember when I told you that I was seeing people?”

“Yes.” Oswald stands up, holding onto the pill box in his left hand while bracing himself against the furniture with his right hand in order to make his way towards Ed. His leg hurts, and he whines out in pain.

“Ed. What’s this?” Oswald asks through gritted teeth. 

Ed is still looking out the window. He doesn’t budge when Oswald rests the palm of his hand against the side of his face. Tenderly. A touch so soft that he doesn’t mind it. It is not strong enough to make the silhouette on the other side of the street disappear. 

“Ed. I’m begging you. Tell me what this is. Please.”

Ed seems to be in a trance. Captivated by something Oswald wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to. Oswald knows it himself. And when he forces Ed to turn his head and look at him, he’s not surprised to see how deadly the light in his eyes is.

“You know what it is, Oswald.”

“Where did you get this?”

“You know where I got it. You know damn well.”

Oswald tries to stay calm, but when Ed smiles at him, or rather snarls at him, he lets go of his lover’s face and steps back. Realization falling onto him like a sharp blade. His anger grows inside of him. Boiling. Hurting.

“Why did you go to her?”

“You told me to seek help, didn’t you?”

Oswald laughs, a rash roar coming from a dark place.

“So you went to Fish, huh?”

Out of all the people he could’ve gone to. Out of all the places in this doomed city. Fish Mooney.

“Well,” Ed starts, sounding less and less like himself, “first, I went to a professional. But you see, Oswald, they don’t get it. I’m not sick. I just needed a boost. So after the third one, I said “screw it”. And I went to Fish’s when I knew you weren’t there.”

“Why?” Oswald asks, upset. “Why did you go to her when you’ve been so scared of her?”

“I never said that.” Ed stands up, towering over Oswald. “I was scared of what she’d do to you. And then,” Ed comes closer, devilishly smirking, “I figured she might do me some good, after all.”

Oswald looks at him, leaning against the wall, still holding the tin box between his thumb and his index finger. Not an ounce of fear left inside of him. Ed, even in the midst of a terrible withdrawal, wouldn’t lay a finger on him.

“You’re crashing Ed. You’re crashing hard. Go sleep it off.” The words leave his mouth in a whisper.

Ed looks at him, furious. Eyes lingering on his lips. Holding them responsible for telling the truth. Always the truth. Terrible. Harsh. Cold.

Oswald doesn’t wait for Ed to say something. He doesn’t give him the opportunity. Spending most of his nights with drunk and drugged people has taught him some tricks. 

He pulls out his knife from his back pocket, holding the blade against Ed’s throat. And it doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Ed to snap back to a semblance of lucidity. Fear is truly one’s best ally in the face of delirious situations.

And when Ed starts sobering up and comes down from whatever bad trip he’s been on, Oswald drags him towards the stairs, ignoring his protests. Sleep now, talk later. 

 

 

 

**Gotham City, Christmas Eve, 1978.**

Ed sleeps so profoundly that Oswald wakes up every twenty minutes in a panic to check his pulse. He has stripped him down to his underwear, but Ed sweats so much during the night that his hair is sticking up to his forehead and Oswald has to stop holding him against his chest.

He cannot think straight, and around 8:46am, when Ed finally emerges from his slumber, he’s been sitting against the headboard of his double bed for two hours. Looking at him while biting on his polished nails. Black, this time.

Ed produces a pained sound when he tries to sit up, hands immediately flying to his temples. Oswald stops biting on his nails and stands up, heading towards the glass of water that’s been waiting on his desk all night long.

He drops an aspirin into the liquid and brings it back to Ed.

“There, you’ll need this.”

Ed grabs the glass in a hurry, almost spilling half of the water on the bedsheets. He downs the mix in one go and when Oswald goes to his bag in order to fetch him some clothes, he groans out in pain. Tears forming on the corner of his eyes. 

“I feel like my head is gonna split into two.”

Oswald chuckles, sarcasm stubbornly swimming towards the surface of an ocean of concerns.

“That’s what drugs do to your system, Ed. They wreck you, and then some. You’ll get over it, trust me.”

“Oswald?” Ed tries to think. Fast. Head buried under a pillow, trying to block the light coming from the outside. He cannot bear the sight of sunlight, but he will brave this if it means that he can get his hands on those pills.

“Yeah?”

“I wanna wear your clothes. Pretty please.”

Oswald shrugs, obeying the specific request, heading towards his wardrobe. When he turns around with a t-shirt large enough for Ed and a pair of old shorts, Oswald is actually not surprised to find Ed looking through his bag, which is now staying on the chair next to his desk. And no matter how hard he tries, his tone is soft when he addresses him. 

“If you’re looking for those pills, I threw them in the toilet. You can try your luck,” Oswald throws the clean clothes at Ed, hitting him on the face, “maybe you’ll be able to fish them out of there.”

Ed stops rummaging through his bag, standing straight. Oswald thinks about last night. How Ed looked so different, even though he was very much still the same. But this time, Ed looks tiny. Fragile. Lost. 

Oswald sits on his bed, while Ed tries out the clothes. It fits. And when Ed pushes the bag onto the floor to sit on the chair, Oswald wants to scream at him, but he only finds the strength to listen.

“Are you mad at me?” Ed looks out the window, again. But he’s fully sober now, and there is no silhouette waiting for him on the other side of the street.

“No. I’m just—Actually I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, Ed.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Oswald sighs, massaging his ankle, putting pressure on the most painful areas of his leg, working his way towards his knee. Downstairs, he can hear the faint sound of a song on the radio. His mother is probably already cooking the Christmas eve dinner.

“Don’t be sorry. I just—I want you to stop going to Fish’s place. I don’t want you to ever see her again, do you hear me Ed?”

Ed nods. He’s heard him. Understanding and accepting what he just said is another matter.

“I see you— changing. So much, that it’s killing me.” Ed’s voice is so steady. So calm. “And I know that a few years from now, you’ll be someone else, Oswald. I know that. I can feel it; here.”

Ed mirrors what he did yesterday, in the living room. The palm of his hand stays flat against his own chest. Oswald watches him, speechless.

“We’re so different. And it didn’t truly hit me until last time, when you came to visit me at the dorm. When you left in a hurry. I just couldn’t bring myself to stop crying. I cried for hours and hours. Until I had nothing left to shed. I wondered if you ever feel the same. If you ever feel sad and lost and pathetic when I’m not with you. But I know you don’t. Because you have this ability to thrive even when others keep trying to push you down. You’re your own person, Oswald, and I’m not. And I know it’s unfair to make this about you. Because this is mine. My pain. My own twisted battle. But you said it yourself. I could do so much more. And I’m trying, so hard— to claw my way out of this. But I swear to you, Oswald, on my mother’s grave— I feel like drowning when you’re not around.”

Silence. Deafening. Overwhelming.

“What you saw when I was talking to that little girl, when we were watching TV, when I was playing the piano. When I was smiling and being—” Ed struggles to find the proper word, “When I was falsely happy. It wasn’t me Oswald. It was— someone else. Not me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on twitter @cowpoke69. thanks for reading! these are the other pieces ed plays on the piano in order: [The Pink Panther Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4kC5uJ7kS_Y),[Vivaldi's Winter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6El8B8hJ4Sg), [Carmen's Habanera](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNqAgBshPMk) and the [Space Invaders Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGsJaq5k6oQ).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promised a christmassy chapter on twitter so here it is (this is much more lighter in tone than the previous chapter, poor ed deserves a break),, i'm sorry for the super late update! also i don't know why i always HAVE TO make ed cry......

**Gotham City, Christmas Eve 1978.**

Oswald sits on the front porch, balancing himself on his grandfather’s old rocking-chair, smoking cigarette after cigarette as if his lungs wouldn’t be able to survive without the deadly smoke. The nicotine doesn’t help, instead it only increases the disturbing memory of Ed’s monologue. 

Every time Oswald closes his eyes, his mind goes back to this morning and what Ed said to him. And every time he tries to find a way to help him, he grows frustrated. His fingernails dig into the palm of his left hand and he curses at himself, in between each drag.

He has heard the distress in Ed’s tone. He has felt the way he clung onto him before his mother called the both of them to come down for breakfast. And he has been deeply hurt by the terrible idea that Ed is not the same. And that he will not be. Not ever. Not anymore.

The cold wind stings his fingers and his face, but it’s nothing compared to what it feels like to know that his lover is hurt, and that there is nothing he can do about it. Kissing the pain away only works in fairytales. And he knows that no matter how much he pours his heart and soul into it; it wouldn’t work.

Ed needs therapy and patience and time. Oswald can only give him one of these. He finishes his fifth cigarette in the span of fifteen minutes before standing up. On the other side of the street, the neighbor’s children are poking at a dead squirrel with a stick.

Oswald would usually scream at them to stop being so gross, but instead he just picks the glass bottle left by the milkman and heads inside. The stark contrast between the freezing cold and the warmth of his mother’s house makes him shiver. 

He takes his boots off and throws them in the same corner as he always does. Oswald tries to remember what life was before he met him. What foods he used to like, what books he used to read, what songs he used to listen to before Edward Nygma came into his life. 

The only thing that he recalls are the memories that he has created with his mother. His companion, his warrior queen, his goddess. A presence so strong in his life that he would never be able to forget about her. Not even with the love of his life occupying most of his thoughts since the very day he met him.

When he goes back to the kitchen, Ed is busy cutting vegetables. His mother is trying to lift up a heavy pot of broth to put it on the stove, and Oswald almost runs to help her, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. Winter weather has never been easy on him.

“Oswald, I told you already. I don’t need help. Edward is very nice, very helpful boy. You need to rest your leg.”

Oswald huffs out a laugh before sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. “Yeah, I’m sure Edward is the perfect son-in-law, Mom.”

At that, he swears he can see Ed’s back muscles tense. He stops cutting, turning around to shoot a panicked glare at Oswald who suddenly remembers that Ed is not aware of the fact that his mother knows about the two of them. 

Oswald looks back at him, half of his expression sorry, the other relaxed. He did not mean to scare Ed with his remark. His mother grabs a wooden spoon to stir the broth, ignoring his commentary for a short while. When she turns to face him, hands on her hips, Oswald shoots her his most convincing grin.

And even though she looks at him when she speaks, he understands that he is not the one she is talking to.

“It is true. Edward is the perfect son-in-law. And I am the perfect mother-in-law, yes?”

Oswald rests the back of his head against the wall behind him, his body entirely relaxing when Ed replies to her. He doesn’t need to see the smile on his lover’s lips to know that it is here.

“I couldn’t ask for a better mother-in-law Mrs. Kapleput,” Ed replies, his attention going back to cutting a carrot in tiny pieces. 

 

 

 

Oswald spends the rest of the morning trying to find the best Christmas songs on the kitchen radio, enjoying the smells coming from the large pots boiling over the fire, eagerly tasting the broth, sauce, and gravy that Ed and his mother ask him to judge every time they do not agree on which specific spices they should or should not add to the recipe.

They put the last dish in the oven around 11am and Ed finally unties his apron from around his waist. Oswald waits for his mother to go upstairs to change into fresh clothes to stand on his feet. He winces at the pain in his leg but does not stop until he’s got Ed backed up against the fridge. 

He wishes he could take a picture of this moment. Of Ed’s expression when he hugs him, tightly, the force of his embrace taking his breath away. Oswald wishes he could freeze time just like the characters in Ed’s comic books. He wishes, more than anything else, that every morning would resemble this one.

All of them bringing life to the kitchen. His mother, looking up at Ed with the most genuine smile on her face. Ed, looking happy and careless. Him, holding onto Ed, and Ed holding him back exactly like he is doing in this very moment.

But time does not stop. It is not clement. And it cannot be bargained with. So Oswald enjoys the hug as long as he can. Ed hugs him back, the palm of his hand caressing his back, his lips resting against the crown of Oswald’s head.

He kisses him, frowning at the cigarette smell, but still allowing his heart to grow ten sizes bigger. And when Oswald lets go of him, he would rather have died asphyxiated by this hug than having to be separated from him. However, Oswald does not entirely let go of him. 

Not even when the doorbell rings and his mother screams at him to go get it from upstairs. Instead he grabs Ed by the wrist in a tender gesture and drags him towards the hallway. When he opens the door, his blood runs cold and he lets go of Ed’s arm.

Victor Zsasz is a tall man. He has always known that. But seeing him standing in the doorway of his mother’s house changes his whole perspective. When his mother asks who it is, he needs to clear his throat before giving her a reply.

“An old friend. I’ll talk to him on the porch Mom. He just needs to ask me something.”

Zsasz rests the palm of his right hand over his heart, “You consider me a friend, Oz? How nice. I’m flattered.”

Oswald rolls his eyes, before walking past him and the two women flanking him to get out of the house. Ed tries to follow him, but he begs him to stay inside with a quick squeeze against his forearm. He closes the door behind him, ignoring the distraught look on his boyfriend’s features.

“Damn, I didn’t notice how cute he was when you came to the club back in August. You really know how to pick them Oz. Alfie, James and now—“

Oswald does not give him the chance to finish his sentence, he is already lighting his sixth cigarette of the day, “Why did you show up to my fucking house on Christmas Eve, Victor?”

Victor let’s out a gasp, in mock offense, before gesturing to the two women to go back to the car. They nod, obeying his orders before walking towards a bright red Pontiac. Oswald waits for them to be inside of the vehicle to draw his knife out. He doesn’t even bother opening it, but the gesture alone sends Victor the proper message.

“Geez, relax. You know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Mrs. Mooney.”

Oswald starts pacing under the porch, unable to hide his impatience, “Spit it out then.”

Zsasz sighs, annoyed by the way Oswald is talking back at him. But the hitman actually replies, clasping his leather clad hands in front of him, in all seriousness.

“She wants you to know that your boyfriend needs to pay her for the drugs. Or else,” Victor brings one finger to his throat and slides it against his jugular in one swift motion, “he’ll be in big trouble.”

Oswald doesn’t miss the gesture, nor the hint of a real threat on Victor’s tone. This is a serious visit, for a serious matter. And for a moment, he considers immediately going back to the club in order to plead with Fish. But he fights against it. Leaving Ed on his own, after what happened the day before, would be pure madness.

“Tell her that the message is received. Loud and clear.”

Oswald puts the knife back where it belongs, throwing his cigarette into the snowy grass before turning his back on Victor. But as he does so, the taller man grabs his wrist in one firm motion. Oswald recoils from the surprise before turning to face him.

“There’s something else,” Victor says, his grasp on Oswald’s wrist actually not meant to hurt him.

Oswald looks at him, confused by his behavior, “What?”

Victor releases his arm, fishing something out of the inside pocket of his fur lined suede jacket before handing it to Oswald. He takes it in the palm of his hand, without needing to look down to know what it is.

“Consider this a Christmas present. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a nasty thing spreading around the community. Better safe than sorry,” Victor winks at him, and Oswald bites his bottom lip, embarrassment showing on his face.

“Oh come on,” Victor coos, “I know you’re not a saint, Oz. So use it, please.”

Oswald nods, unable to form a proper sentence, and Victor flashes him a satisfied grin, “Good. Now go and have fun with your funky little—” 

Oswald doesn’t wait for Zsasz to add another witty comment. He closes the door behind himself and rests his back against it. He closes his eyes, listening to his own heart beating inside of his eardrums. He looks down, opening up his palm to analyze the three condoms that Victor gifted him before shoving them in the back pocket of his bell bottom jeans.

He lets out half a sob, repressing the need to slide against the door and let himself cry. Ed and his mother are in the living room; he is able to hear their voices even though he does not understand what they say. And for a while, he stands there, listening to their voices. His blood and the love of his life. His mother and his partner. Oswald knows, deep down, that if he wants them to see the end of this year, he will have to face Fish Mooney. 

 

 

 

When he joins them in the living room, they are both facing each other, sitting on the couch. His mother holds Ed’s hand in his own, his palm facing upwards, and Oswald snorts, acting like nothing at all has happened, before sitting on the space between the sofa and the TV post.

Ed shoots him a quick glance, but Oswald does not want to talk about it in front of his mother, so he just winks at his boyfriend before looking at her. She seems to be so focused on tracing the lines of Ed’s palms with her index finger that she does not even notice his presence. 

“I told you not to let her read your palms. She’ll say that you’re doomed to live in the darkness forever or something like that.”

Ed stifles a laugh before lightly hitting Oswald on the forehead with the palm of his free hand, “Don’t listen to him Mrs. Kapleput. I want to know what my future holds.”

Gertrud finally looks up from her careful study of his hand. Oswald actually listens to her answer, genuinely interested in what she has to say. He tries to forget about his conversation with Zsasz, scooting closer to Ed to rest his left cheek on his lap while his mother describes what she saw as best as she can. 

“You’re very bright, very smart boy,” she says.

“Nothing new so far,” Oswald whispers. 

Ed hesitantly runs his fingers through his lover’s hair, relaxing only when he realizes that Gertrud does not care at all about their public displays of affection. Instead, her gaze lingers on his fingers playing with her son’s hair, a soft smile stretching her lips. Her blond hair hides part of her eyes, but there is no way to escape the fondness in them when she speaks.

“Edward will do great things. Spectacular. He will be famous. But there is something else,” her tone gets serious, and the few wrinkles around her mouth suddenly seem more apparent.

“What is it?” Oswald asks, curiosity written all over his expressive features.

His mother rests a hand on the side of Ed’s face. And Oswald watches as he leans forward, chasing the warmth of her fingers. Ed looks at her, eagerly waiting for an answer. His fingers do not play in Oswald’s hair anymore, and the latter realizes that he actually believes in what his mother is saying.

Edward Nygma, the man of science, his pragmatic lover, believes in something that has nothing to do with logic.

“There is great pain in you, great sadness. Secrets. Terrible secrets. But there is still hope,” at that, Ed closes his eyes, completely letting go of Oswald’s hair, his attention only focused on her, “there is love and there is a bright, bright future for you. You just—You need some time, is all.”

And after she falls silent, Oswald does not count the time it takes for Ed to stop crying. He does not stop looking at them when Gertrud takes him in her arms. He does nothing, really, because there is nothing he can do. Ed has lost his mother. He has taken his father’s life. And there is something about the scene that makes him realize that it is okay.

Things will get better, as long as Ed still has his chosen family.

 

 

 

Oswald tries not to get drunk before the clock strikes midnight, but he fails miserably at this task. He is well aware of his level of intoxication when Ed asks for a dance and he almost falls straight on his face on the living room floor. His mother frowns at him, and he gives her a thumbs up as if to say “I’m okay”, before holding onto Ed’s shoulders with both hands for support.

Gertrud leaves them be, grabbing her coat and purse to leave for the midnight mass, only after making sure that her son will not break another part of his body. Ed reassures her, promising that he will keep an eye on him. Oswald ends up enlacing Ed’s waist, resting the side of his face against his chest, letting him lead their improvised dance session. He closes his eyes, enjoying the way Ed sings along to the [melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KF1XydEnNU), smiling when he tries to make his voice go higher than he’s used to.

When he speaks, he is relieved to be able to form a coherent sentence without slurring, “Remember the last time we danced?”

Ed stops moving around, only for a second, but Oswald can feel him tense in his arms. And he hates himself for speaking without a filter. Of course he remembers. The last time they danced was right after Ed had just killed his father in cold-blood. Oswald hugs him tighter, as if the gesture is enough to make him forget about this memory.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, but Edward breaks the hug, stops dancing, and grabs his face with both hands.

Oswald sees the look in his eyes, and he wonders if Ed is entirely sober, or if he will start screaming at him for being so tactless. His apprehension gets the better of him. He cannot stand looking into his dark pupils any longer, but when he tries to lower his gaze, Ed tilts his head up. 

“I do remember,” Ed whispers, voice husky and lower than usual, “we never actually finished what we started after that dance.”

Oswald’s mind races towards that memory, and he doesn’t know if he should blame the wine, or the fact that Ed is recalling the very last time they shared something other than kisses and cuddles, but his cheeks turn bright red. On that day, right after he had killed his father, right after he had washed the blood out of his hands, right after they had both shared a dance, Ed had actually asked him for more. 

And Oswald had gladly accepted. Which had resulted in sin and bliss, something that they had not found the opportunity to reiterate since then. Probably because Ed’s mental illness often prevented him to actually go through things without feeling the need to stop, and because Oswald had been busy trying to satisfy Fish’s needs day and night.

Oswald tries to give him a reply, afraid that he might break the rareness of this moment with his clumsy words, “Do you—do you want to—I mean, I just—We could try and if you want me to stop I—Just let me know okay?”

Ed smiles, looking at him with so much adoration that Oswald feels worshipped. And when his lover’s lips meet his, in a warm, lust-filled kiss, Eartha Kitt’s voice sounds so distant, so misty. Oswald lets out a whimper, surprised by the way Ed pushes him backwards. He winces, ready to get hurt, but he lands on the cushions of the sofa. He feels like he could be a bird, or on a cloud, with how elated he feels. 

When Ed joins him, sitting between his spread legs to kiss him again, this time with less urgency, Oswald slightly pushes him away, hands resting on his chest. Ed is wearing a warm fuzzy hand-knitted black sweater, with a Christmas tree in the front, covered in Christmas lights. Oswald wants to laugh at how ugly that sweater is, but instead, he traces his lover’s lips with the tip of his thumb and leans up to kiss his cheek.

“I love you.”

Ed stops looking at him with a confused expression, clearly relaxing, before chasing his lips for another kiss. He doesn’t need to say it back. Not now. But Oswald pushes him away, again, and Ed frowns, wondering if Oswald expects him to reply. This would be something new, but he opens his mouth to give him what he wants when Oswald sits up, looking around for something in his back pocket.

Oswald tries to sound as casual as possible, but he is aware of the fact that no amount of pretty words will change the importance of this conversation, “We need to stop being so careless.”  


“What do you mean?” Ed leans back against the sofa and Oswald fully sits next to him, holding the condoms before his eyes.

The look on Ed’s face means that he hasn’t heard about the epidemic, or that he is still too focused on their previous actions for anything else to make sense. Oswald smiles, a soft grin, before brushing against Ed’s jaw. Ed looks at him, blinking, and Oswald understands that they have both had one or two glasses above their limit.

“You’ve had sex with other people before, right?” he asks, tone soothing. He doesn’t want to annoy Ed, nor bring out bad memories.

“Yes,” Ed replies, avoiding eye contact with Oswald.

“Ed, look at me.”

Ed looks at him, and Oswald notices the fact that there is no hurt in eyes, but incomprehension instead.

“Why are you asking me this? You already knew that. I had sex with my girlfriend in the second year of high school. But that was it. I’m not—Do you think I’m cheating on you?”

“Oh no, Ed,” Oswald laughs before leaving a peck on his cheek. And he feels like his heart might burst with how much love and affection he holds for Ed. 

“Then what is it?” Ed seems to be calmer.

Oswald knows that they should have done this sooner, and that having this talk on Christmas Eve is probably the worst idea ever, but he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what Victor told him earlier. And about what Fish announced the previous weekend, when they were all about to go home from a long shift.

Oswald focuses on the condoms in their silver packaging, and his voice trembles when he recalls what his boss said, “People are starting to die and—and we have been so, so careless. We need to get tested, the both of us, I figured we could go next week maybe, after your Tuesday class. And I’m—I don’t know why but--“, Oswald finds the strength to look up when Ed squeezes his hand with his, “I can’t lose you. I would—I would be lost without you. And I don’t want to lose you because we’ve been acting like reckless teenagers. I just want us to be safe.”

“So that’s why you want us to start using condoms, and you were afraid that I might be against the idea.”

Oswald nods, and Ed scoffs, a laugh so low that Oswald almost misses it.

“Oswald,” he says, and Oswald knows that there is nothing to be apprehensive about, “I’ve been fascinated by the human body all of my life. I went to get tested as soon as I heard about the HIV epidemic. And I get tested way too much for someone who has had the same partner for the past three years. So, trust me when I tell you that this is safe. But,” Ed kisses the left corner of Oswald’s mouth, smiling at his lover’s concern, “I appreciate your concerns about our health.”

Oswald closes his eyes, relishing in the soft kisses that Ed leaves along his jaw, letting the condoms fall onto the floor, “I didn’t know.”

Ed laughs against his skin, sending shivers down his neck, “There’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about me.”

Oswald falls back on the sofa, not pushing Ed away, this time, when he tries to leave kisses all over his face, stopping after a while to whisper in his ear, “It doesn’t matter if I have dated someone before you. I’m yours, and yours only, Oswald.”

And Oswald knows, with the way Ed pronounces his name, that they should probably go to his room, but Ed seems so focused on giving him an early Christmas present right then and there that there's no way he'll accept his offer. So Oswald remains silent, allowing himself to enjoy the peace that seems to be coursing through Ed's veins. He knows that this will not last. That tomorrow morning, he might find himself facing his lover's demons. But for now, he just wants to love and be loved without thinking about how this truce will eventually come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on twitter @cowpoke69.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here comes the chapter with the unexpected cameo.

**Gotham City, Christmas Day 1978.**

Oswald sleeps so soundly that Ed does not dare to move. He holds him close to his chest, ignoring the fact that he cannot feel his left arm anymore. They actually made it to Oswald’s room before Gertrud came back from church. 

Ed tries to remember exactly what he felt like a few hours ago, in the arms of his love. How deeply he had wanted him, a sensation so delicate and intense that he fears he does not deserve to experience it. Not when he has been so at war with himself. Oswald shifts a little, half of his face squished against Ed’s bare chest, lying on his belly.

And Ed smiles, so enamored that it hurts his cheeks. His free arm reaches out to Oswald’s back, and his knuckles brush against the faint freckles on his shoulder blades. Oswald looks so content, and Ed is painfully aware of the fact that this will not last. Not for long.

He closes his eyes, enjoying the silence and the peace. His mind, however, does not want to cooperate. Lurking in the darkest corners of his memory; lingers the bitter taste of fear and apprehension. The drugs, the money, the debt. 

Victor talked to Oswald, and Ed is not oblivious enough to pretend that he does not know what the subject of that conversation was. Fish wants her money. Two months she said. But Victor’s early visit is a clear enough sign. She knows that Ed will never be able to pay her back, not when he still has to pay last month’s rent for his tiny little dorm room, so she wants to make sure that fear will make him honor his promise.

And for an hour or so, Ed tries to figure out a plan to find enough money to save his life. Several options come to mind, but only one seems to make sense: finding a job. When Oswald wakes up, half-sobbing from a bad dream, Ed does not notice it, not until Oswald sits up, jerking away from him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Oswald whispers, the palms of his hands pressed against both sides of his face.

Ed sits next to him, on the left side of the bed, the both of them facing the window. Oswald looks pale under the moonlight, but he knows that it has nothing to do with the eerie light of the moon. He puts an arm around Oswald’s shoulders, and when Oswald rejects him, swatting his arm away, Ed fully shuts down his elaborate planning to focus on him.

“Don’t,” Oswald whispers, "please.”

“What happened?” Ed asks, genuinely concerned about the situation. It is unlike Oswald to reject him, and he knows that there must be a good reason behind his behavior.

“I saw her. I fucking saw her. She was—she tried to—fuck. She was hurting you and I stood there doing—nothing. Nothing,” Oswald’s voice breaks but still, when his hands fall from his face, Ed notices that he is not crying. 

Oswald never cries. But when Ed sees the way his hands are shaking, and how lost he looks, he realizes that there is no need to. He would rather have him crying in his arms for hours rather than witnessing him beat himself up because he could not save him in a dream.

“Oswald,” his voice is feather-like, so inviting that Oswald actually turns his face towards him.

When Ed’s palm rests against the side of his face, he does not push him away. And when he leans in to leave a kiss on his forehead, Oswald sighs, relief taking over his body. He hugs Ed, tightly, whispering how sorry he is against the warmth of his chest.

“It was just a dream, Oswald. Just a dream.”

Oswald nods, and when he leans back, Ed notices how dreamy he looks under this particular light. How his hair falls in front of his eyes and how those eyes shine so brightly, even in the middle of the night. How soft his lips look and how dewy his skin is. And nothing, not even the moon herself, could compare to this ethereal vision.

And he wants to tell him. How handsome he is. How strong he is. How in love he’s made him. But he cannot find words powerful enough to explain what is happening inside of his mind. And when his breath hitches in his throat upon seeing the way Oswald looks back at him, there is only one thing he manages to say.

“Touch me.”

Not out of love. Not out of lust. Not out of those fleeting emotions that one might feel when they lay eyes on the love of their life. But rather because if Oswald does not touch him, if he does not kiss him, if he does not make him feel alive all over again, he might as well disappear. 

Ed knows his lover. Enough to accept the fact that this nightmare is one tiny little fragment of the terrors that lie inside of Oswald’s mind. But this will do for now. The knowledge that Oswald cares about him, so much that only a dream about him being hurt changes his whole behavior, is enough to feed Ed’s ego. And he tries to shut the voices screaming at him, blaming him, accusing him of being addicted to these shallow emotions. In vain.

Oswald is busy leaving a love bite on his neck, right under his Adam’s apple, when Ed snaps back to reality, escaping the judgmental confines of his mind. And there is something so endearing about the way Oswald’s fingers play along the skin of his inner thighs, and the way his tongue licks his tender skin, that Ed knows he won’t last long.

Ed lies flat on his back, allowing him to straddle his hips, and what Oswald says next is so surreal that Ed moans, hiding his face with both of his hands. Oswald laughs, his lips kissing the back of Ed’s hands, whispering against his skin while the fingers of his left hand dangerously brush over his erection.

“Want me to repeat what I just said?” Oswald uses his other hand to grab at Ed’s hair, and Ed blushes even more, his cheeks turning a bright red. He nods, a shiver running down his spine when Oswald whispers against his ear.

“You’re mine. And if anyone dares to lay even one finger on you, I will kill them.”

Ed dances over the edge of a dangerous precipice, conscious of the fact that another moan has escaped his lips only when Oswald’s palm covers his mouth. He can feel Oswald smiling against his ear, and his hips start moving against his hand, chasing more pressure, more contact, more pleasure. And Oswald touches him, until Ed has to bite one of his lover’s fingers to stifle his moans.

Oswald kisses his neck and his collarbones, trying as much as he can to distract him. And that, he manages a little too well. When he kisses one specific scar – right below Ed’s left shoulder – it’s as if Ed had been drunk, and is now fully sober. Ed grabs Oswald’s hand, which had been resting against his mouth, and when Oswald sees the look on his face, he stops touching him, not waiting for any verbal cue to do so.

“Sorry,” is all Ed manages to say before turning his head away from him, mentally cursing at himself. Ruining a perfectly good moment is his forte. And he suddenly wants to become invisible.

_You’re so weak. He didn’t even get to finish you off. What a pathetic lover you make._

“Shut up.”

Ed sits up, and Oswald, who is still on his lap, almost falls off of the bed, but fortunately ends up on the mattress. 

“Who are you talking to?” he asks, sitting up to look at Ed, genuinely confused.

“No one,” Ed starts, leaving the bed to blindly look for his underwear under the bed, “I—no one. I just need to leave.”

Oswald pulls the blanket against his naked body, suddenly shivering from the sensation caused by the loss of Ed’s warm body against his.

“Ed, listen to me. This is no big deal. You don’t have to leave. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I don’t mind stopping when you ask me to stop. I literally don’t care. What matters is that you’re okay. I don’t want to force you to do anything. I wouldn’t do that to you. Hell—I wouldn’t do that to anyone. Maybe we should try to find a safe word? Something like—I don’t know—pineapple? Or—Fruity Peebles? GCPD? Ed, did I do something wrong?”

_Nothing. You’ve done nothing wrong._

Ed does not have the time nor the will to explain how Oswald showing affection to this one particular scar has reminded him of how he got it. Fifteen years old. A drunk father. A crowbar. A few stitches. Nothing unusual, really. But the object of the crime, however, is what he used to hit his father in the head. What he used to end his life. What he hid in the backyard – under his mother’s favorite apple tree – even before cleaning his dad’s blood off the floor.

He finally gets his hands on his boxers, pulling them up around his waist before searching for clean clothes in his duffle bag. He wears a pair of washed out denim overalls on top of his Christmas sweater. In the background, Oswald is still talking about consent, and Ed faintly smiles, congratulating himself for ending up with someone who respects his boundaries.

“Oswald,” Ed kneels on the bed next to his boyfriend, leaning in to leave a quick peck on his lips, “I’ll be back before the sun rises. I promise. As long as you promise me that you won’t try to follow me.”

Oswald blinks, trying to understand the meaning of Ed’s words. “Where are you going?”

“I need to go back to my old house.” Ed figures that telling him the truth will actually prevent Oswald from trying to stop him.

“Why?” Oswald grabs his wrist, already clinging on him.

“Because there’s something that I left there, and I really need it. And I need to retrieve it before one of the next owner’s kids finds it on accident.”

“What is it? Why do you have to go now?” Oswald asks, and Ed does not find the strength to blatantly lie to him.

“It’s a surprise.”

 

 

 

When Ed comes back to Oswald’s house, covered in melted snow and dirt from head to toe, Oswald is still sitting on his bed, naked, covered with the blanket and listening to [Queen’s first album](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oU7rqB9E_0M) . The sun is high in the sky already, and he does not spare one glance at Ed when he stands in front of him, holding a crowbar in his gloved hands.

Oswald looks out the window, and he doesn’t need to lay his eyes on Ed to know that he has concealed part of the truth to him, “You said before sunrise. It takes ten minutes to go to your house. You’ve been gone for two hours.”

“I had to take a detour.”

“Liar.”

“What?”

Oswald turns his head towards Ed, and there is a decent amount of anger in eyes. Ed takes his coat off, putting it in a trash bag along with the rest of his dirty clothes. He stands in his underwear, examining the crowbar under the natural light of the sun.

“You would’ve lost it if I told you the truth.”

“And what’s the truth, exactly?” 

Ed sits next to Oswald on the bed, scooting closer to him before setting the crowbar between them.

“I had to dig this out. Did you know that frozen dirt is extremely hard to dig through? Especially when you don’t own a shovel?”

Oswald’s fingertips brush along the edges of the crowbar, and he doesn’t pay attention to Ed, who smiles, already happy about the reaction the object is drawing from his boyfriend. Oswald does love illegal artifacts and he seems to be fascinated by this one in particular.

“It’s the one you used to kill your father,” Oswald takes the crowbar in both hands. The cold metal does nothing to his always freezing palms, “I thought it was at the bottom of the river. You told me you had to get rid of it yourself.”

“This crowbar delivered me from him. I killed him with it. I couldn’t just throw it in the river.” Ed looks out the window, silent for a while.

Oswald finally stops examining the crowbar. “What do you need it for?”

“I don’t need it,” Ed says, looking at Oswald with a mischievous expression, “but you, on the other hand. You might find it pretty helpful considering the path you’ve chosen.”

Oswald laughs, surprisingly, and Ed frowns, trying to understand why.

“What’s so funny?”

“Are you kidding me?” Oswald wipes the happy tears forming in the corner of his eyes, “You’re gifting me the weapon that you used to kill your fucking father, on Christmas day? Don’t you find that a little bit funny?”

_It is pretty funny if you want my opinion._

Ed frowns, then smiles, and the overwhelming emotions turn into a laugh. Oswald joins him, again, and they both end up laughing so hard that Ed has to find his breath after a while. At last, Oswald stands up, still covered in the blanket, and grabs the crowbar to hide it inside of his wardrobe. When he comes back towards the bed, he is holding a gift covered in purple wrapping paper.

“What I got you is not as sentimental.”

Oswald gives the present to Ed, who carefully opens it. Inside a wooden box with intricate designs on top of it, there are three objects. The first one is a Rubik’s cube, which Ed starts solving as soon as he gets his hands on it. Oswald grabs it before he finishes, and Ed looks up at him with a knowing smile on his lips.

“Show-off. You could at least pretend that it’s a difficult task.”

The second present is a mood ring. Twelve colors for twelve moods, and Ed makes the mental joke that the ring will have a hard time figuring out what he is feeling, when he – himself – doesn’t know half of the time. When he puts it on the ring finger of his left hand, however, it turns purple.

“It means that you’re very happy,” Oswald says, looking down on him, still standing up.

“I am.”

The third present makes Ed stand up and hold Oswald in a bone crushing embrace.

“You did not.”

“I did. I figured it would make it easier for us to go on dates,” Oswald says.

Ed holds out the motorcycle keys in front of his eyes, grinning widely. “Where did you park it?”

“In the backyard. But let’s give my Mom her gifts before going out. And,” Oswald adds while gesturing towards the bathroom, “You need to wash off all of this dirt. It’s all over your face.”

 

 

 

**Metropolis, January 1979.**

“I hate this place,” Oswald says, sipping at his tequila sunrise with a somber expression. “I bet they couldn’t make a proper cocktail even if they had a gun held to their heads. Remind me, why did you think coming here was a good idea?”

Ed leans against the back of his chair, downing the rest of his Coca-Cola in one go. He looks different, with his hair slicked back and tamed, and a pair of golden framed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He looks around for a moment, making sure that no one will be able to hear when he gives his reply.

“This is not just a good idea. This is a brilliant idea, Oswald.”

Oswald scoffs, shooting a quick disgusted glance at a couple passionately kissing in the middle of the dance floor.

“Yeah, sure. The best idea ever. I’m gonna get a refill,” he says, standing up with his empty glass in hand.

“I thought you said you didn’t like your cocktail.”

Oswald shrugs, “Yeah but I wanna get drunk fast, in order to forget about how shitty this whole city is. Do you see any other way to do it, smartass?”

Ed chuckles, rather amused by Oswald’s impatience. He seems to truly despise this place, but Ed knows that this is worth it. When Oswald walks past him, he grabs his forearm, slightly pulling on it to have Oswald’s face a few inches from his. He kisses him, taking his time to taste the alcohol on his tongue before smiling against his lips.

“I just need to find a way to talk to him and we’ll get out of here, I promise.”

Oswald straightens up, unable to hide the smile on his face, “And I need to get shitfaced before I witness you trying to interact with fucking Lex Luthor. Next time just send him your resume, Ed.”

Ed doesn’t protest. He watches Oswald limp towards the bar, making sure that he finds his way without bumping into anyone, before standing up to take in the surroundings. Meeting Lex Luthor is the plan, but the mass of people dancing and sweating and screaming under the blinding light of this establishment makes it more difficult than what he had imagined.

Oswald spent the last three days trying to find a way for the both of them to get an invite to this party. This had turned out to be the most viable plan out of all the ideas Ed had thought about in order to give Fish her money before she put a bullet in his head. And so, there he was, desperately trying to find a way to talk to Lex Luthor in order to ask for an internship.

And he had spent the last three days trying to prepare himself for this meeting, but as he looks around the room, there is no sign of Lex, nor of his father. Ed walks past the bar on his way to the bathroom to make sure that Oswald is not in a coma, and he finds him in the company of a dark haired woman, probably in her thirties, wearing a badge – that he cannot identify even with the help of his brand new glasses – on the left side of her yellow silk dress.

Oswald seems to have totally forgotten about how annoying this whole place was to him a few minutes ago, and Ed leaves him be, focusing on making his way towards the bathroom without getting steeped on by a drunk dancer. It is still early and the club is not fully packed yet, but the loud music is already starting to give him headache.

The bathroom lights are for some reason dimer than the ones on the dance floor, and Ed splashes some cold water on his face, completely oblivious to the fact that a man is snorting a line of cocaine off the side of a sink, right next to him. Ed only looks up when the man curses, observing him in the mirror.

“Oh fuck, didn’t see you there.”

Ed looks at him, almost losing his wits on the spot when he realizes that the voice belongs to Lex Luthor. His brain short-circuits, and he finds himself walking backwards, towards the door. But Lex, no matter how drugged he is, beats him to it and locks the door.

“Where are you going?”

Ed tries to focus on the glorious strands of brown hair covering Lex’s forehead, or the flickering light in one of the bathroom stalls. But Lex’s voice is so firm that he has to reply, or otherwise, he might not be able to make it out of this bathroom alive. He had never taken the scientist-turned-business-man heir to be the violent type, but Ed doesn’t want to play with his luck. Not with the look he is getting from the older man.

“Out of the bathroom, Sir. Where else would I be going?”

“I will make this quick,” Lex says, a hint of madness lingering on his tone, “what did you see?”

_Use this against him. If you play his game, he’ll win. Do you want to be a loser?_

Ed tries to steady himself against the door, breathing slowly before a smirk stretches his lips. And for the first time in a while, he fully embraces the darker nature of his thoughts. His duality has sensed an opportunity that he cannot ignore. Lex seems torn between nervousness and impatience.

Ed figures that he expects him to deny things, but this would be foolish. And even when he tries to imagine what Oswald would say to him, Ed is able to hear his lover’s voice in the back of his head, encouraging him to use this in his advantage, as clear as day.

“I saw you snort a line of cocaine. That’s what I saw, Sir.”

Lex sighs, heavily, both of his index fingers massaging his temples. He looks suddenly even younger than his age. His blue eyes focus on the ground, and Ed knows that he doesn’t have the time to stretch this out. If he wants to get what he needs from him; this is now or never. His tone is less condescending when he addresses him, this time.

“I won’t say anything. Listen, I know what it feels like, Sir.”

“How can you possibly know what it feels like, you’re barely twenty,” Lex says, sounding more annoyed than angry at him.

“To feel like you need to drug yourself to escape how shitty this reality is, to be trapped in your own mind, to believe that this is the only way,” Ed says, surprised by the way things come to him with an easiness that he didn’t know he possessed, “I don’t need to be as old as you are to know about this, Sir. But I’m not here to snitch on you. I just want something from you.”

Lex looks up, his hands going back inside the pockets of his silver suit. He looks dashingly handsome, and Ed briefly wonders why he is wasting his life and his intelligence snorting lines of cocaine in the bathroom of a club in the most luxurious and shallow areas of Metropolis. But then again, the voices laugh at him, taunting and harsh in their bluntness.

_He’s just like you, Eddie. He’s got daddy issues, too._

Ed bites the inside of his cheek, so hard that it hurts, but it makes the voices go silent, at least. Lex looks at him, waiting for an answer. Pale blue eyes inviting, but still so cold that Ed wonders if Lex has ever known true happiness. 

“I wonder if maybe, I could get an internship at LexCorp.”

Lex raises his eyebrows, and his laugh sounds like a bark, rather than something human-like.

“All of this, to ask for a job? Are you serious? People your age usually don’t give a fuck about my father’s company. Why would you?”

“The research you’ve done concerning the importance of chemical agents in relation to the mind is fascinating. I’ve read your thesis and your research. You’re an inspiration in the scientific field. And I believe I could learn a thing or two from the man who found a way to synthesize kryptonite,” Ed declares, “green is my favorite color.”

Lex thinks about his proposition, brows furrowed, unable to hide his surprise, eyes studying Ed from head to toe, “Where are you from?”

“Gotham City, Sir,” Ed says in heartbeat.

“Well, unfortunately I can’t give you a position in LexCorp,” he says, not giving Ed a chance to protest, “as I said, it’s my father’s company, and he doesn’t take any applications currently. But, if you like green, there’s a place which might fit your tastes in Gotham City.”

And even before Lex hands him the business card that he retrieves from his pocket, Ed knows what he is talking about. The Ace Chemicals logo is printed on a black metallic card, and he wants to throw it in the trash, but his eyes find Lex’s gaze, and the look he gives him tames his impulses. Working in the same company as his father might not be so terrible after all.

“What’s your name?”

“Edward Nygma, Sir.”

“No need to call me Sir, Ed. You just bullied me into giving you a paid internship.”

Lex pats him on the left shoulder before unlocking the door. And despite the drug in his system, he looks extremely sober. Ed wonders if he has already reached the phase where nothing can stop his demons from reaching the surface. And this time, when Lex smiles, Ed understands that he has once experienced happiness, no matter how fleeting that was.

“Keep this up Ed, and you might end up doing things beyond the realm of your imagination. Trust me, all great minds think alike.”

Lex winks at him, and within a second, he is gone. Ed clutches the card to his chest for a while, wondering what greatness he has seen in him. When he goes back to check in on Oswald, who is still talking to the woman – whose badge says _Daily Planet: Reporter_ – he cannot suppress the smile stretching his lips. Going on an adventure with Oswald, in the birth city of his mother, turned out to be the best idea of this year, so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on twitter @cowpoke69. don't hesitate to leave a comment, i reply to all of them, thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone i'm so sorry for the super late update!
> 
> WARNING: the second scene of that chapter might be triggering for some so proceed with caution /// the triggering content has to do with sexual harassment.

**July 1979, Gotham City.**

Ed finds himself facing a familiar door. Untreated, raw metal. Meant to dissuade anyone from even trying to trespass into a territory that only a few would dream about. But he’s not anyone, and that door is familiar, as much as the dark hallway he stands in.

The first time he found himself facing that door was in December. Right after Oswald had finished one of his long, exhausting evening shifts. Ed remembers it so vividly. He remembers how he waited for his boyfriend to disappear into the night in order to enter the nightclub. 

He remembers the loud music and the way the bouncer almost stopped him from entering the place before recognizing his face. Zsasz’s low whistle when he saw him. How he had asked in a tiny, almost inaudible voice if she was here.

Lucky for him; she was. Fish Mooney. In her shiny dress, painted nails and high heels, wearing her smile on her face like an accessory. Powerful. Brilliant. Intimidating. A deadly concoction. She had led him to a more private space. Her office, situated right behind that very door.

“Sit.” It sounded more like an order. Far from any polite invitation.

Ed had struggled to find the right words. Ashamed to ask for help from the woman who controlled Oswald’s every move, his every decision, his very life. But eventually, his desperation had pushed him further, and he had found the proper vocabulary to express his distress. He needed that drug, for a limited time. But he needed it right now.

Fish had asked, with an unabashed honesty, “Do you have the money?”

“No.”

“Do you have a job, then?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I don’t—what?”

“What makes you think that I will give you these pills if you don’t have the money to pay for them?”

_Because you owe him. And I’m the love of his life so you owe me. He’s been devoting himself to you. Night and day. Hours and hours of faithful services and for what?_

Nonsense. Oswald was the one working for her and he was just his invisible boyfriend. Fish couldn’t care less about him. That is what he told himself before giving her a more reasonable reply. Something he could actually do without getting the love of his life into this.

“I’ll find a job. I’ll save enough money. I’ll pay you before you even remember that I owe you a debt.”

He remembers. How she laughed at him. Her shiny white teeth blinding him. The sound coming from her chest so honest it still resonates in his mind. She had taken her time, before leaning forward, from where she was seated on the edge of her desk, legs crossed, looking down on him, small, insignificant, sitting on that chair.

How she had grabbed his chin, just like she had done with Oswald so many times before. Soft. Burning. All too much for him to really understand that it was pure resentment he felt when her nails played along his jawline.

“Oh honey, you will pay me back. And if you don’t, I’ll make sure Oswald honors your memory by doing so himself. And I want you to know that there will be a much higher price to pay,” her voice had been feather-light, but her words so heavy with threats that he wanted to go home in order to wash the sting from his very skin.

And then she had released her grasp on him, acting like nothing at all had happened for the rest of their meeting, while he was still recovering from what he had just heard. She’d kill him. She really would. And he was willing to risk that in order to get a few pills. He was tired. So tired. Of everything, of the sleepless nights, of the fits of anger, of the distress pushing him under a little harder every day.

It happened seven months ago. But still, as Edward knocks on the door of Fish’s office, for what he hopes is the last time, it feels like it happened only yesterday. He’s alone, again, and even though Oswald is waiting for him at the bar, no amount of positive thinking can tear the anxiety away from his very bones.

He sits when she asks him to sit. Ed is not really in the mood for small talk this time, so he just retrieves an envelope from his jacket. The fact that Fish agreed to give him until the end of July to pay his debt is a testimony to how deeply she actually cares for Oswald.

“I’d hate to take away the only thing he has left. I love Oswald like a son, and I’m doing this for him, I want you to know that,” she had said in early April, when he had asked – begged – her to give him more time.

When her fingers brush against his as she takes the envelope full of cash, Ed feels a dangerous impulse beating inside of his chest. He wants to hate her so much that it doesn’t make much sense anymore.

_This can’t be love. She doesn’t love him. How could she after what she’s done to him? Hurting him. Breaking him. Turning him into a faithful dog who does whatever she tells him to do._

“I haven’t seen Oswald in a while. How is he?”

Ed tries to focus on the foreign lyrics of the music playing downstairs. It’s French. He translates them. One by one.

__[Je suis dans ta vie,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MsPKAyDjMdA)  
_Je suis dans tes bras._  


_I am in your life,  
I am in your arms._

“He’s doing okay,” Ed says, barely a whisper.

_Ce soir j'ai de la fièvre,_  
_Et toi tu meurs de froid._  


_Tonight I have a fever,  
And you are freezing cold._

“He needs time to make his peace with what happened. But he’s strong, he’ll get over it.”

_You know nothing about him. Not an iota of the truth._

Ed stands up, fists clenching at his sides. He needs to leave before the words bleed out of his brain. Fish looks at him, her expression displaying surprise. She’s done counting the money, and Ed thinks the timing is perfect, really. He turns on his heels, ready to depart without even casting her a final glance.

“You do love him.”

_What’s so surprising about that?_

“I do.”

“Then if you love him, do not try to restrain him. Oswald doesn’t answer to anyone. You’ll never be able to entirely possess him. I have rarely seen someone as free as him. He’ll grow past that grief. And when he does, I pity anyone who will stand in his way.”

“I know this,” Ed snarls, turning back just enough so she’s able to see the fury in his eyes.

Fish smiles, Ed hates it, “Good. You can leave now."

Ed leaves and runs to the bathroom. He finds the closest stall and throws himself on his knees, ignoring the pain, retching until the bile burns his throat. He had seen it coming. The pain in his head did not help. And the stress consuming his insides had been the last straw. 

He finds comfort in the idea that this is the last time he sets foot in that place. He is done paying back his debt. He is done with the drugs, with the lies, with the secrets. Oswald is waiting for him. He needs him. Ed stands up, letting the rhythm of the music replace his panicked breaths. He slowly regains control over his trembling body.

_You’re free._

 

 

 

When Ed goes downstairs, Oswald is nowhere to be seen. It takes him three minutes to find Zsasz and ask if he’s seen him, two to walk past the crowd packing the dancefloor and one more to actually reach the back alley of the club. Ed’s ears are still ringing from the loud music, the cold air bites his cheeks, his heart sinks into the bottom of his stomach when he hears him.

“Leave me alone.” 

He’d recognize his voice anywhere, but there is distress on his lover’s tone and it chills the very blood in his veins. Ed lets his instincts guide him as he walks towards the dead end of the alley. Everything is a blur, his hands are still shaking and he knows what is happening even before he sees it.

Oswald is standing between a filthy brick wall and a man much taller than him. He tries to push him away with shaking hands and fists considerably weaker than the chest they hit. Ed can see the panic in his movements. The way Oswald is not even looking at that man’s face but rather trying his hardest not to meet his prying eyes makes him want to scream.

And the man does not move. He instead seems to enjoy the fact that Oswald is clearly rejecting him. It’s a game for him. A twisted, disgusting fantasy. Ed’s very core shakes when he hears his wicked voice. It sounds so wrong, so empty of any empathy.

“Come on baby, give me a chance.” 

Oswald hits him in the face and the man grabs his wrist mid-air, twisting it until Oswald whimpers in pain. Ed’s blood runs colder, freezing his entire body, but still, he is driven forward by something he cannot quite explain. He grabs the knife he always carries from the back pocket of his corduroy pants before opening his mouth to let out what comes out as an almost bark.

“Let go of him.”

Ed doesn’t bother looking at the man when he turns around to face him. His eyes are on Oswald, and he finds relief in the midst of all the distress drowning his lover’s eyes. The man releases his grasp on Oswald’s wrist. Ed is surprised when he lets go so easily. But then, the man is walking towards him and it all happens so fast.

“Who are you?” the man spits, an unfair amount of rage unfurling from his very core.

Ed staggers backwards, “Does it really matter?”

“Answer my question or you’re next, you little piece of shit.”

The man gets closer by the second, and Ed tries to think fast and efficiently. He wants to hit the jugular first, but the man is taller than him, if he misses, he is dead.

“Do you enjoy this? Assaulting people? Is that fun?”

“Shut up!”

Ed doesn’t. Instead he keeps going, walking as far away from Oswald as possible. If the man gets him, he’ll have a chance to run for his life.

_You know damn well he won’t run away._

“Didn’t you hear him when he asked you to leave him alone?”

“That’s none of your business. Besides, this little slut was just playing hard to—”

Ed yelps when he hears the first gunshot. Some blood splatters across his face and his glasses on the second one. On the third one the man falls on the ground. And he stops counting until Oswald is done emptying the cylinder of his gun into the man’s back.

There is a moment of silence, only broken by Ed choking on his breath, trying so desperately to find something, anything to fill his lungs. Something other than the pure shock slowly invading his thoughts. Oswald lowers the gun, and then he is the one talking, his voice steadier than when he was trying to make that man stop.

“I told you to leave me alone,” he whispers, looking at the lifeless body lying on the ground, as if it might rise up from the dead and give him a snarky answer.

But there is no answer coming from that man, nor from the cold fog gathering around them. Ed feels the air leave his lungs only to be replaced by something terribly stuffy. Oswald comes to him, and he knows it should be the other way around.

_Who knows what that man could have done to him? And yet, he’s the one protecting you? Oh, Ed. You truly would be lost without him._

Oswald proceeds to carefully take the knife out of his hand, folding it in two softly, as if it were as fragile as a piece of paper. Ed looks at the body. At the pool of dark blood slowly forming around him. It reminds him of his father and he hates himself for even thinking about a personal memory when this should be about Oswald.

Oswald who is gently holding him against his chest. Oswald who carefully rubs his arms in order to help him get his lucidity back faster. Oswald who whispers that it will be alright, that there is nothing to fear anymore. Oswald who lets go of him after what feels like a lifetime in order to grab his hand and lead him towards the motorcycle parked on the other end of the alley.

“Let’s go home.”

 

 

 

Home. Ed doesn’t know what it means anymore. And he knows Oswald doesn’t either. They both end up in his dorm room. Oswald takes his shoes and his suede jacket off, discarding them on the floor before heading for the bathroom.

Ed follows him, not a word slipping past his sealed lips. He briefly looks at his reflection in the cracked mirror. His debt has been payed. He is free, at last. Yet his eyes tell a whole other story. His lips slightly tremble but he will not cry. Not now. Oswald’s arms circle his waist, cheek pressing against his back. The warmth of his embrace envelops him and he tries not to dwell too much on his own emotions. 

_Home is where the heart is. Where he is._

Oswald squeezes him a bit tighter before letting go. He takes off the remaining of his clothes, lazily, before stepping into the shower. Ed joins him, sighting in relief when the water hits his skin. Oswald scrubs the blood of off Ed’s face. It has dried in some places, but the warm water makes his task easier.

Oswald’s hair has grown even longer, his wet bangs cover his eyes, and Ed wishes he could pretend that he does not want to get rid of this barrier. His fingers slowly brush Oswald’s hair away. There is no urgency to the movement. Just the will to see him. Entirely. Not just what Oswald usually offers to the world, but what he gives him in these precious moments of intimacy. What lies underneath the skin and bone and blood.

_You want to own him. Claim him. You cannot. Not entirely._

A faint sound comes out of Oswald’s lips. He closes his eyes, wincing from the pain when Ed’s thumb traces the right side of his neck. He hadn’t seen it in the darkness of that alley. A bruise, the exact same size as that man’s filthy hands. And it dawns on Ed like the sharp edge of a knife. And when Oswald speaks, giving life to the awful truth, Ed wants to go back into that dark alley and plunge his knife into that man’s chest ten times over.

“If it weren’t for you, he would’ve killed me.”

“But you killed him in the end,” Ed’s fingers run along Oswald’s collarbones, concern ruling his entire body and mind. However, he’s glad he was able to provide a distraction. He has never met someone as strong as Oswald in his entire life, but he is not sure he would have survived any longer without his intervention. And even if that man hadn’t killed him, a part of him would have died tonight in that alley.

Oswald smiles, tiny and full of an emotion Ed rarely gets to see, “He had it coming.”

Ed wishes he could give him what he needs most. But it is impossible. She is gone. Forever. And Fish said it. He is the only precious thing Oswald has left. So he holds him tight, fingers running along his back so delicately, as if Oswald could dissolve in his arms any moment.

“I miss her,” Oswald says against his chest, already sobbing.

It has been happening quite a lot recently, and Ed doesn’t fully know how to deal with that side of Oswald yet. That part of his lover who has been so fragile and tangled in emotions so dark he cannot deal with them on his own. 

So Ed does it for him. He tries at least. To take the pain away. To soothe him when he wakes up crying in the middle of the night. When he grieves and grieves until mourning becomes too painful, too difficult. His mother’s love left him, forever, and Ed knows he will never be able to replace it.

But deep down, buried in the darkest corners of his mind, Fish’s words sound awfully true. Oswald is strong. He will get over this. He will learn to live with the grief and eventually transform it, bend it to his will. Because that’s what he does. He turns every experience into a strength, and Ed simply wonders how long it will take him to do it this time.

“I know. I miss her too,” he answers, and Oswald cries harder.

_Oh, how you’ve longed for this. To hear him cry. To see him let go. To feel his vulnerability. Do you enjoy it now?_

Ed grinds his teeth, his hands grow numb and Oswald tilts his head up when he feels him let go. The cuckoo clock strikes midnight. And Ed weakly smiles at him before turning the water off. He grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist before handing Oswald his own robe.

“What’s wrong? I could practically hear you thinking,” Oswald asks while tying the robe. 

He is not crying anymore. It’s incredible how easily he can forget about his demons when Ed seems to be battling his own. And now that he knows about the voices, it’s easier for him to shift the attention on his lover rather than on himself.

“Nothing.”

_Liar._

“Okay,” Oswald says, and Ed knows it’s only because he doesn’t have the strength to argue with him.

Ed follows him out of the bathroom, this time, before going straight to his bed. They sit here in silence, while Oswald tries to solve the Rubik’s cube for the hundredth time, and Ed is thankful for the distraction it provides. When he looks at the clock it is already 1am. Time always flies when he is with him. And then he remembers the date.

_July 26th. How could you forget?_

“Oswald,” he says, a smile stretching his lips.

“Yeah?” Oswald says, not looking up from the square puzzle, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Look at me.”

Oswald looks up, eyes still red from all the crying, expression turning into confusion when he sees that Ed is now laughing. Oswald forgot as well. He does that every year. It seems like he doesn’t care much about that particular date, but for Ed celebrating is still important. So he leans forward and leaves a peck on his lover’s cheek.

“I love you.”

Oswald touches his cheek with his fingertips, discarding the Rubik’s cube on the bed. Ed grabs it before putting it on his bedside table. Oswald is still trying to understand what has just happened when they get under the covers. Ed stifles a yawn and runs his fingers through Oswald’s still damp hair. And then Oswald gasps, softly.

“Shit, I just remembered the date.”

Ed laughs, strained and exhausted but truly happy. Oswald hugs him tighter, and all is well. As long as they have each other.

“Ed?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t listen to them. Don’t listen to the voices. No matter what they say. I love you. So much that it scares me sometimes.”

Ed tries to fight back the tears forming in the corner of his eyes, but no matter how hard he tries, they still fall. He waits until Oswald falls asleep in his arms to give him a reply. His voice is low but even so, he doesn’t recognize it in the depth of the night.

“Happy birthday Oswald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on twitter @cowpoke690. 
> 
> the next chapter will be an epilogue, i am so sad to say goodbye to this story, i truly enjoyed writing it and i love them so much! however i already have another project in the works which will be set in the mid-90s (i really love different eras AUs, can you tell???). thank you so much for reading, don't be afraid to leave a comment i reply to all of them.


	8. Epilogue

**Gotham City, July 1980.**

Oswald waits on the opposite side of the building, clad in a pair of bell bottom jeans, a t-shirt that says ‘stone wall 1969’, his favourite pair of shades perched high on his nose and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Ed spots him as soon as he leaves the facility, almost dropping half of the documents he's been holding against his chest to jog towards him, his face lighting up immediately.

When he’s close enough, Oswald drops the cigarette to the ground and gets on his tiptoes to leave a quick peck on Ed's right cheek. It is brief and he wishes it could last longer, but it’s all they can really afford. The street is almost empty, but they both know that getting caught in public displaying their affection towards each other could end up being fatal. 

Ed’s gaze lingers on Oswald's lips, before going straight to the pair of glasses hiding his lover's eyes, “Why are you wearing these,” he starts, gesturing towards the sky to point at the moon, “in the middle of the night?”

Oswald rolls his eyes at him, before he remembers that Ed cannot see it. He settles for a shrug and starts walking towards a red car parked down the street, “Because they're good for hiding dark circles? And I'm not gonna take fashion advice from you, Ed.”

Ed laughs, always entertained by Oswald's attitude, “I think someone needs to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, you, cause I sure as hell am not the one working from nine to eleven.”

Ed stops in front of the vehicle when he realizes where Oswald has been leading him, ignoring his partner's snarky remark. His memory of that day is pretty blurry but he does remember Zsasz's car from when he paid them a visit during Christmas two years ago. His mind is half torn between asking why Oswald is driving the hitman's car, and what he has planned for their very late evening date.

Instead, he settles for another question, “Since when do you have a driving license?”

Oswald opens the driver's door before getting inside, slamming it a little bit too hard before leaning towards the passenger’s side to roll down the window. Ed stands still on the sidewalk, clutching the documents with both hands against his chest. It is clear that he is waiting for an answer, no matter what it might end up being. Oswald is unpredictable, and he's so used to this that he has learned to adapt. He'll take whatever excuse he has to offer.

“I don’t need a license to know how to drive, Ed. Prove me wrong and I'll let you take the wheel. Besides, we're gonna be late if you keep acting like a diva.”

Ed chews on his bottom lip for a while, half of his features lit by the green light coming from the imposing ‘Ace Chemicals’ neon on the facade of the main building. He seems to be deep in thought, genuinely considering Oswald's arguments. Oswald observes him for a while, quickly understanding that Ed needs to be reassured, or else he'll never get into that car and they will be late to the movies. Fascinating how he can get scared of such trivial things sometimes.

“Ed, look at me.”

Ed does look at him, the green light now reflecting on his glasses. Curly hair – grown too long – falling in front of his eyes, white shirt messily tucked into his grey checkered pants, green tie loosely hanging around his neck along with a name tag saying “E. Nygma: Grade B Chemical Engineer. Status: Internship.” Oswald takes his glasses off, to get a better look at him. Ed is always breath-taking , always handsome and always a mess.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, always afraid of the answer, no matter how many times Ed has given him a reply. Always the same. Always so easy to fall from his lips.

“Yes,” Ed answers, voice so soft Oswald almost misses the rest if his sentence, “you’re the only person I fully trust in this hell of a city.”

He has heard this more than he can recall, but Oswald still has a hard time processing the information. It’s always intoxicating, really, knowing that Ed sees him as the one and only person he cares about on this earth. It scared him when they were younger, sending shivers down his spine. Back when he was still afraid that Ed might wake up one morning and realize that he didn’t really, truly, completely love him.

But hearing these words after all they have been through, in the driver's seat of Zsasz's Pontiac, makes him believe in them. Oswald doesn’t really know why that is, and why it hasn’t happened earlier. But he knows, when Ed opens the passenger side of the car to sit besides him, that it is the plain truth.

No need for letters or hours long phone conversations. No need for confessions or expensive gifts. Ed closing the passenger door before buckling his seat belt is enough. It’s enough when he leans in to ask, “can I give you a proper kiss now?”, and Oswald just nods. It’s enough when they get to the movie theatre and Ed holds his hand while they’re waiting in line to get their tickets. It’s enough when Oswald spends half of the movie sleeping on Ed's shoulder. It's enough when they go to the docks and enjoy the fireworks just like they do every year. It's enough because it’s all they have left, all that really matters.

 

 

 

**Gotham City, April 1981.**

Oswald moves in with Ed on the first day of April. The apartment is just one big room, much better than his old dorm, save for the huge neon casting its light right outside the window. Oswald has been spending most of his nights here for more than five months, so he doesn’t really mind it anymore. He’s grown used to it, even, occasionally snapping a Polaroid picture of Ed when the light hits him just right.

“Consider this your birthday present,” he says while unpacking a box full of records.

Ed is sitting on his bed, browsing through his old high school chemistry essays, trying to hide his smile, “It’s just a coincidence, Oswald.”

Oswald scoffs, in mock offense “Nothing is a coincidence with me. Not a thing. “

“I believe you,” Ed replies, before going back to his notes.

“Busy?” Oswald asks before dusting one of his old records to place it on the turntable.

“Sort of,” Ed replies, “the GCPD wants Ace Chemicals to come up with an antidote to the gas this Scarecrow guy has been spreading in the southern side of the city. But I have no interest in doing my job.”

Oswald sings along to the first verses of Fleetwood Mac's ‘Dream’ before sitting on the bed, facing Ed. He grabs one of the essays, not even paying attention to what’s written on it. Instead he uses it to fan himself. Ed follows the movement of his wrist, so easily distracted by his boyfriend. The fact that they should probably not live together for the sake of his job security crosses his mind, but he pushes it so far away that he'll never reach it again in his entire life.

“Let me guess,” Oswald smiles, “you’re more interested in the process Crane went through to create this toxin rather than finding an antidote to it.”

Ed frowns, forgetting about the various scientific magazines and ten year old sheets of paper spread in front of him, “Crane? Do you know who’s behind the mask?”

“Yeah, Jonathan is an old friend,” Oswald's reply is so casual that Ed starts laughing.

“Of course you know him,” he finally says when his laughter dies down a little, “you know everyone in Gotham. Hell, you're probably secretly friends with Jim Gordon.”

Oswald blushes from his neck all the way to his cheekbones, and Ed looks at him with a shocked expression, mouth forming a perfect O shape, “Wait, you do know him.”

Oswald averts his gaze, suddenly really interested in the wall behind Ed, “I used to know him, yeah. Old friend, old foe, old fucking pain in my ass. Last time I talked to him was when he interviewed me about Fish's vanishing.”

Ed smiles, wicked, “What did you tell him?”

Oswald sighs, heavily, before lying on the bed, lighting a cigarette, as if the smoke could help him come up with a better answer. It doesn't, and he knows how Ed is looking at him without even seeing it. He can feel his gaze burning the side of his face, waiting, desperately waiting. Ed coughs a little when Oswald blows the smoke towards him, on purpose.

“What do you think, genius?”

“I know you didn't tell him the truth, because you would be behind the bars of a Blackgate prison cell right now. But I know you didn't straight up lie to him. So what did you say to Jimbo, Oswald?”

Oswald looks at his boyfriend from the corner of his eyes. It scares him sometimes, the look on his face when they talk about this. About the fact that Oswald didn't have the heart nor the strength to kill Fish himself, so he asked him to do it. And when Ed refused, Oswald ended up pushing her from the top of a building, with no other witness but the sound of the river swallowing her to nurse him back to a semblance of sanity.

“Nothing. I said nothing because I had nothing to say to him.”

 _Unlike you, I don’t get off on leaving clues behind me,_ Oswald thinks, but he knows it would be a cruel thing to say to the love of his life. Ed's very different from him, but it’s fine as long as they both come to an agreement on who they should trust, and who they should get rid off. And so far, their arrangement has worked. Oswald does the killing, Ed tries to soothe him as best as he can.

Ed has killed only once before, and Oswald knows he will eventually do it again, but now is not the time to talk about this. Oswald sits up, alternating between smoking and using his lips to leave kisses on the palm of Ed's hand. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for him. No crime, no killing, no torturing, nothing too gruesome to stop him, not when it is for Ed. 

But Fish was a different matter. He did it for himself, and the fact that it didn’t even hurt him as much as he had expected it to terrifies him. She is gone, and he feels like his happiness is underserved, but no matter what his demons tell him, he finds himself enjoying it. Oswald kisses Ed again and again, adoring him with every breath he takes, every brush of his lips against his skin, so deeply enamoured that he could get lost in it for hours and hours.

The thrill in Ed's voice is gone now, “Do you miss her?”

Ed gets closer to his love, leaving a kiss on his forehead before taking the cigarette from his lips to his. He drags on it a bit longer than usual, knowing that it’s not good for his lungs, but ignoring the sting, focusing on the welcome sensation of the nicotine. Oswald waits until he’s finished it to lean in, catching Ed's lips in a tender kiss. The truth it is.

“You’re the only person I miss every single day, even when you’re right next to me.”

Ed smiles against his lover's lips. A mix of sadness and joy. He gets drunk on the fact that it’s just him, and only him. On the idea that Oswald owns him like nobody has ever done before. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knows that he will never own _him._ Oswald is a free spirit, wild and so deliciously dangerous that no one will ever fully possess him. Fish was right. And Ed kisses him breathless, until his mind grows numb and he cannot think about the terrifying fact that Oswald will likely be the end of him, no matter how sweet or painful that end will be.

 

 

 

**Gotham City, November 1983.**

It’s the first Thanksgiving they spend together. One of many others to come. Ed is wearing his brand new forensics blouse, and he picks Oswald up from one of the Southside docks on his motorcycle. Oswald has been waiting for him in a phone booth, leaning against the glass now covered in fog and his own blood. Ed drags him to the bathroom as soon as they get home.

“Sit,” he says while pointing towards the counter next to the sink.

Oswald sits, and Ed brings his first aid kit before cleaning the blood from around his mouth first. Oswald stays silent, fidgeting with the hem of his boyfriend's blouse, distracting himself from the pain as much as he possibly can. Ed is used to this. Cleaning his wounds until they’re nothing but a distant memory. Oswald gets beaten every now and then, even though he’s quickly become one of the most powerful men in the city. 

“How many times have I told you not to mess with the Sirens?” Ed asks while applying gauze against an open cut on Oswald's left eyebrow.

Oswald slightly flinches away before screwing his eyes shut, willing the pain away, “Selina's men stole from me. Do you think I was gonna let them go away with this?” Oswald hisses in pain when Ed starts applying alcohol to the cuts, “She's lucky I didn't come for her head.”

Ed doesn’t reply, too busy tending to his wounds, and he doesn’t need to. Oswald knows that he cannot disagree with him. Selina has overstepped the boundaries many times, and it was about time her men learned how to behave. However, no matter how many times this has happened, he cannot silence the voice of concern screaming at him that Oswald should be more careful.

No matter how strong he is, Oswald is still very much human. He is still very much the love of his life. He is still very much the only person he wants to wake up next to every morning and fall asleep with every night. Oswald is his love and his demise. He's the key to what he has become. There is no Edward Nygma without Oswald Cobblepot. And sometimes he wishes the laws would change and they could get married and things would be easier and they could be carefree. But wishful thinking won’t make the real world more tolerant. So he enjoys what they have, in the small intimacy that this apartment provides.

He waits until he is done to leave a kiss right under his jaw. Oswald shivers, half-relief, half-tiredness, “I love you. And I know you’re strong and ambitious and you don’t take shit from anyone. But please, Oswald, listen to me when I tell you that you’re playing a very dangerous game. So next time, let me come up with a better plan. Let me help you. Please?”

Ed leaves a trail of kisses along his lover's neck, settling for a spot right under his ear to leave a mark. Oswald drags him closer, too light-headed and weakened by tonight's events to form a coherent reply. And just like that, it is settled. They’ll work hand in hand from now on, no matter the risks, because there is nothing quite as lovely as being partners in love and in crime.

"Do you wanna know what I'm thankful for this year?" Ed asks against his skin.

Oswald smiles, genuinely happy, "If you say "you" I'll dump you."

Ed falls silent for a while, before breaking into a fit of laughter, hysterical. And when Oswald joins him, he knows that everything will be alright, as long as they can find happiness in the most unstable of situations. As long as it's the two of them, they'll be able to overcome anything. Life can be harsh and unforgiving but as long as he has Ed by his side, it will turn up divine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i can't believe this is the end,,, this was my very first fic for the gotham fandom and i'm sad this has come to an end but it was such a pleasure to write these two idiots,,, u guys are super sweet and i'm thankful for the kudos and positive comments some of you have left,,, it means a lot,,, i hope i managed to portray ed and oswald's relationship in a way that was entertaining but realistic enough,, giving them a "happy ending" was in my head all along since they both have been through some really shitty times together,, i'll see you pretty soon with another project (get ready for some 90s fashion),, i truly hope you enjoyed this wild ride!


End file.
